


The Last Time

by oyhumbug



Series: Time [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Paternity Reveal, Queen Consolidated, Romance, Secrets, Starling City Politics, Tempest - Freeform, Verdant, Vigilantism, alternative history, olicity - Freeform, season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26381644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oyhumbug/pseuds/oyhumbug
Summary: Picking up directly where The First Time left off, Oliver and Felicity now know that Malcolm Merlyn is the Dark Archer, Malcolm Merlyn now knows that Oliver is the Hood, and Oliver has declared Felicity to be his fiancee. How do these three revelations change not only Oliver and Felicity's lives moving forward but all of Starling City?
Relationships: John Diggle & Felicity Smoak, John Diggle & Oliver Queen, Moira Queen & Felicity Smoak, Moira Queen & Oliver Queen, Oliver Queen & Thea Queen, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, Roy Harper & Felicity Smoak, Roy Harper & Oliver Queen, Roy Harper/Thea Queen, Thea Queen & Felicity Smoak
Series: Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916950
Comments: 22
Kudos: 114





	The Last Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Everyone! No, your eyes are not deceiving you. I'm finally posting the sequel to The First Time. And it's LLLLOOOONNNNGGG. I debated breaking it up into smaller portions, but I wrote it as one, continuous piece, so, ultimately, I feel like it should be read that way, too. But be warned that this read will take you some time (no pun intended)... that is, if anyone is even still interested in this story. I hope so! Because I am excited about some of the things I do here. You'll see that Oliver and Felicity are not always in their bubble with this story, but, given that their relationship is no longer a secret, they couldn't always remain on their own. Also, if you're interested, I have a whole album of visuals on my Pinterest page (oycharlynnrose - A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words - The Last Time (Time Series)) to go along with this story. Feel free to browse if you're interested. :-) 
> 
> Thanks,  
> Charlynn

**The Last Time  
** **A Sequel to The First Time**

When everything changed between them - when the Glades fell, when Felicity revealed that she already knew who he was underneath his hood, when they, together, decided to embark on a relationship for all to know, there had been a small part of Oliver, one he tried to ignore and deny, that feared sharing Felicity and what she meant to him, what they meant to each other, would somehow… lessen their connection and just how special she was to him. While the selfishness was nothing new, it certainly was an uncomfortable reminder of the boy he once was. Oliver wasn’t proud of the fear, and he certainly wasn’t proud of the fact that it played into his suggestion that they reveal the depths of their feelings gradually and with discretion.   
  
As he sat there, holding Felicity’s hand, Oliver had to admit that he was a fool.  
  
Felicity Smoak was his solace. She was his relief during a literal storm and his comfort during the commotion and turmoil that was the rest of his life… no matter the weather. He should have known that, by bringing her into the light of day and having her there by his side, she’d be a balm to his damaged psyche, that she would make the constant, overwhelming stimuli, and the pressure from his family, and the curious stares of strangers and friends alike, just… all the _noise_ that much more bearable.   
  
With a touch of her hand upon his knee, she made the smells of overpowering disinfectant and lingering death, smells that reminded Oliver of the Amazo and Akio and made him wonder what it would have been like to return to Starling with Felicity waiting for him at the hospital rather than his mother, fade. And, when he would lift that hand to kiss the sensitive underside of her palm or nuzzle her wrist, Oliver could temporarily escape his surroundings and the yet still deeper depths of hell that they now found themselves in, savoring, instead, the scents of jasmine from the lotion she preferred and just a hint of coffee.   
  
When she sensed that he was particularly anxious, Felicity would run her short nails - nails the color of his suit, the color of his mission, the color of him - through the short, scratchy hair at the base of his neck. Back and forth, up and down, with every brush against his sensitive skin, the hospital waiting room where they sat became a little bit warmer and less sterile, Thea’s resentful yet somehow still expectant face as she watched him with Felicity and listened to the raised voices from the hospital room next to them hurt him just that much less.   
  
And, as he wrapped their hands together, her soft, pale, yet no less strong… in their own way… fingers weaving through his own, calloused and forever stained, Oliver could confront the harsh and ugly truths unwittingly being revealed by one and unwillingly by another as they fought behind closed doors and walls too thin to mask resentment and desperation, respectively.   
  
After realizing that Malcolm Merlyn was the Dark Archer and the mastermind behind the destruction of the Glades which cost thousands of people their lives - a number that was still growing as already decimated and overtaxed emergency workers continued to put out fires and sift through what rubble was left behind, Oliver had been torn between getting Felicity as far away from the man who had created, abandoned, and then murdered his best friend and staying at Tommy’s funeral until the bitter end to see if he could learn any more or, at least, make sense of what had already been revealed to him. But then he watched as his mother received a call, her gaze immediately seeking out that of Malcolm’s who nodded towards her subtly before Moira, without a word to anyone else, turned and left, Thea at her heels. Before Oliver could even form a question… let alone ask one, Felicity was already holding her own phone out for the both of them to see, a notification on the screen revealing that Walter Steele had been found.  
  
Alive.  
  
Walter was alive.  
  
The breaking news report claimed that he had been discovered during a routine search and rescue mission in the Glades with the going theory that his kidnappers had perished in the earthquake. Though bruised, and dehydrated, and even malnourished - all things that would be plausible for someone who had, first, been held in captivity for months and, second, for someone who had survived an entire city falling down around him, the media was suggesting that Walter was one very lucky man. And, in comparison to those lives lost, perhaps he was, but Oliver had to imagine that his stepfar, for now, didn’t feel particularly lucky as he confronted the actual reality of his situation: secrets that his wife had been keeping not only led to his being kidnapped in the first place, but Moira had also been complicit in the abduction and subsequent captivity, because she knew about it and did nothing to stop it and because, while he was gone, she played the dutiful, worried, and then even mournful wife when it was in her power to bring him home the entire time.   
  
What was even worse, Oliver realized, though he wasn’t sure if Walter had made the same logical assumptions yet, was that the only reason Malcolm had moved Walter back to Starling City and allowed him to be found was because, with that nod at the funeral, Moira had agreed to yet another deal with the mass murdering megalomaniac. She didn’t tell the truth or confess her sins. She didn’t work with the authorities, or hire private investigators, or even appeal to the vigilante for help in finding her husband. No, instead, she colluded with the very man who had hurt Walter in the first place.  
  
Whatever Walter did or did not know, whatever he suspected but could not prove - yet, Oliver, with Felicity beside him and Thea across from them, listened as his stepfather demanded a divorce from Moira. She protested, but the effort seemed more from habit than any actual sentimentality. Eventually, her arguments against separation turned practical, the fate and future of Queen Consolidated obviously Moira’s actual concern… not because she wanted Walter to return to the company in his former capacity of CEO but because she intended to continue running QC herself, and a divorce would be frowned upon by the board. Walter held firm. When the fight started to become personal, when Walter, to Oliver’s ears, started to hint towards the depths of Moira’s involvement with and connection to Malcolm, Oliver watched as his mother emerged from the hospital room mid-sentence, ignoring the man she interrupted with her sudden departure. She was as composed and poised as Oliver had ever seen her, as she had always been.  
  
“Thea,” Moira addressed her daughter, though she didn’t approach the teen. “Walter would like to see you now.” With a wary glance, Thea did as she was told, quietly shutting the door to the hospital room behind her. The click of the latch hadn’t yet sounded before Moira was rounding on her son, disappointment and disdain dripping from her polished countenance, her pointed words. “Really, Oliver - first, Tommy’s funeral and, now, this; here?” Felicity’s hand was still in his, so Oliver gave it a reassuring squeeze… for the both of them. With a sigh, Moira dismissed, “I don’t have time to deal with yet another of your indiscretions, Oliver,” before tucking her purse under her arm and walking away.  
  
Even after everything she had done - the affair, shooting him while dressed as the vigilante, whatever the extent of her involvement with the earthquakes that leveled the Glades, Oliver had always believed that his mom would always put those she loved first… even if at the expense of others. If nothing else, he had faith in her devotion to her family. In one day, in one conversation, in one nod across a cemetery, that faith was destroyed. As Oliver watched her leave, he realized that it was the last time he would ever trust his mother, the last time he would ever blindly trust... anyone besides his team, besides Felicity. 

<\---

It had been a rough week.  
  
Felicity was pretty sure that nothing could top half of the city going boom (not that she was going to tempt that by definitively claiming as such), but the last seven days hadn’t been great either.   
  
First, Oliver’s mother demoted her. And that’s exactly who sent her free-falling down the corporate ladder to land in a position below that which she had initially started at QC: not her boss, not the CEO, not Moira Queen but her boyfriend - no, make that her fiance’s mother, because, despite Moira’s claims to the contrary, that it was a ‘back to basics’ approach, kicking Felicity downstairs was 100% personal and a direct result of who Felicity was in Oliver’s life and not who she was at work.   
  
Next, immediately after being released from the hospital, Walter left town. In a last ditch effort to convince him to stay and fight for Queen Consolidated, Oliver, Felicity, and Diggle followed him to the airport. They didn’t walk away empty handed, for Walter had been one step ahead of them the whole time and had a signed and notarized letter giving Oliver both his support in a bid for the company and his proxy, but Walter was determined to leave Starling City and move back to London. Given everything he had recently been through, Felicity couldn’t blame him, but she regretted his leaving nonetheless.   
  
The silver lining of their failed airport wooing? In saying goodbye to Walter, they caught a glimpse of a returning Helena Bertinelli. Why she was back, they had no idea. (And, yes, Felicity now knew the whole story with the mob princess turned patricide enthusiast: how Oliver attempted to befriend her, to give her a purpose, to help her channel her rage into something productive only for his efforts to create havoc and destruction… not to mention a grudge on Helena’s behalf towards Oliver.) But at least, this time around, she wouldn’t be able to blindside them.   
  
Worst of all, the death toll from the quakes was still rising, fires were still burning, and buildings were still falling. While the search and rescue missions were still ongoing, given the amount of time which had passed, more often than not those efforts turned into search and recovery operations instead. The city seemed no closer to starting the massive cleanup and rebuilding project it faced than the night the ground rose up and swallowed portions of the Glades whole. Yet, despite this, there was Malcolm Merlyn, purchasing acre after acre, block after block of real estate on the cheap, while Felicity failed time after time in her attempts to put all of the tiny, disparaging puzzle pieces back together as she tried to make out the complete picture. At least she knew, after the afterhours board meeting that evening, QC would no longer be a tool in Malcolm’s chest.  
  
As Felicity paced back and forth while waiting for Oliver to come out of the meeting victorious… and this was a fight he had to win, she went over the arguments she helped him prepare. At first, Oliver had wanted to reveal his mother’s role in what had happened to the Glades, but Felicity convinced him that, in the end, Moira would walk away unscathed because there was no tangible proof, and it would be the people of Starling who depended upon Queen Consolidated for their wellbeing and livelihoods who would ultimately and unjustly be punished. If they technically did the right thing and admitted the company’s role in the earthquakes, then QC would fold, but, if they stayed silent, they could make Queen Consolidated a force of good once again. But, first, they had to oust Oliver’s mother from the company.   
  
The biggest point in Oliver’s favor was Walter’s backing. He was prepared for his mom to challenge his lack of a business degree, but Moira didn’t have an MBA either. Furthermore, while Moira stood back and allowed Robert to close the Queen Steel Foundry, crippling the Glades’ economy, Oliver was invested in the Glades, his nightclub turning a profit in less than six months. As far as their public images were concerned, who would the board rather have as the face of the company: the prodigal son who returned from the dead to settle down, get engaged, and take on the mantle of his family’s legacy and empire or the woman who was getting divorced after having an affair while her soon-to-be ex was mysteriously kidnapped? Oliver even had a plan for the future of QC: to, at first, focus on aid for the Glades while, eventually, bringing Queen Consolidated’s businesses back locally, building up their tech, communications, and applied sciences divisions. And, if none of that worked, Oliver was prepared to blackmail his mother into conceding to him the position, Felicity having told him about her less than SEC-friendly accounting practices.   
  
“Do you have any idea what you just did in there,” Moira attacked her son as they left the boardroom.   
  
It was a rhetorical question, but Felicity found herself answering it anyway, though she waited for the door to shut so as to prevent the board from overhearing. “Yeah, I think so.” With a silent nod as confirmation of their success, Oliver joined her, his left arm automatically wrapping around her hips to pull Felicity into his side.   
  
“You,” Moira accused, stalking towards Felicity with her index finger extended in recrimination. “This is all your fault. You did this. You put my son up to this.”  
  
“I did no such thing. Unlike you, I recognize that Oliver is his own person, capable of his own thoughts, his own feelings, and his own ideas.”  
  
“I should have fired you when I had the chance,” Moira declared heatedly.  
  
“And I would have just hired her back,” Oliver countered, though his mother didn’t even spare him a glance. No, she had daggers of green ice for Felicity alone.  
  
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?. And, heck, maybe she’d finally be able to buy herself a clue. “For someone who has always wanted her son to take his rightful place as head of this family, don’t you think you’re making a _tempest_ in a teapot out of this, Moira?”  
  
The older woman reared back slightly. Though her tone was no less acrimonious, her bravado slipped. A crack in Moira Queen’s perfectly crafted facade had just been revealed. “What did you just say to me?”  
  
Felicity felt more than saw Oliver watching her closely as she turned into him and his embrace, slipping her own right arm around his waist and curling her left hand into the fabric of his suit right over where it covered his calm and steady heart, the delicate bracelets she wore, all of them subtly… or not so subtly… representing the man she was wrapped around, tangling on her wrist bone. “I just think you should….”  
  
“I see you’re not wearing an engagement ring yet,” Moira interrupted her snidely, once more, obviously believing that she had the upper hand again.   
  
“I don’t need Oliver to buy me expensive things to know how he feels about me. He tells me. He shows me.”  
  
“And how many other women do you think he’s _showing_ his feelings to, Miss Smoak? You know, Oliver never comes home at night.”  
  
“Yes. He does.”  
  
With a pinched mouth that did absolutely nothing to disguise her animosity, Moira, in a storm of Chanel, rage, righteous indignation, and Manolo Blahnics, pivoted on her heels and stalked away. Once she was gone, Oliver turned towards Felicity. “You found something,” he surmised, knowing that she had been researching not only Malcolm but also his mother and believing their confrontation a product of some discovery Felicity had made.   
  
“No,” Felicity denied. Before he could react and show even a whisper of discouragement, she confided, “but I know exactly where to look now.”  
  
Felicity also knew that it would be the last time she would ever question if she was cut out for Oliver Queen… or the Hood’s... life. She was made for him (and he her), and they were equal matches… in all aspects of their lives together. 

<\---

Felicity Smoak was the most infuriating, impossible, stubborn, and willful woman he had ever met.  
  
And Oliver was so in love with her that he couldn’t think straight.  
  
They were in bed together, and he should have been asleep, for the press conference to announce him as Queen Consolidated’s latest CEO would be held the next morning and, even on the best of days, there were never enough hours in the night, but Oliver was wide awake, going back over their fight and trying to figure out just where he went wrong and how he could make it right again. There was enough moonlight coming through Felicity’s sheer curtains… or maybe they were _their_ sheer curtains now… for Oliver to see clearly, yet the vision that greeted him - Felicity wrapped up in silk sheets the same green-black as his suit but with her back towards him intentionally, a first - did nothing to ease his mind or help him relax enough to rest. Instead, Oliver found himself propped up on his elbow so as to open his bedside drawer, silently locating the small box stored inside. Removing the piece of metal and stone from the box, he laid back down, twirling the physical embodiment of everything he wanted for his future between his blunt, scarred fingers. When it caught the light, it was like holding a living flame within his grasp… much like loving Felicity felt.   
  
Oliver sighed, once more looking over at the woman next to him, but she hadn’t moved. He wasn’t sure if she was actually asleep, but, awake or not, the sudden distance between them was… unsettling, to say the least. And the worst part was that he didn’t know how to broach it once more. They said that the road to hell was paved with good intentions. If that was true, then Oliver should work for the Underworld’s department of transportation, not QC.  
  
Oliver and Felicity couldn’t agree on the future of her job at Queen Consolidated. At the very least, Oliver felt like Felicity should be reinstated into her old job, the one she held before his mother demoted her, but what he really wanted was to create a new position within the company for her, one that would better utilize her skills, talents, and education but also allow him to keep her close. As much as Oliver knew Felicity’s career meant to her, that’s how he cared about her safety. Sometimes it seemed like there was a constant, looping, instinctual directive pounding through his blood stream in regards to Felicity: kiss, love, keep forever, protect - just those five words over and over again, drowning out any and all other desires and instincts. So, with Malcolm Merlyn aware of who Oliver was and what Felicity meant to him, he could only find peace when Felicity was beside him.   
  
He didn’t even trust Digg to protect her, because, if he did, then Oliver would have asked his friend and partner to serve as Felicity’s bodyguard instead. Even as it was, Diggle was splitting his time between watching out for Oliver and putting Verdant (and more importantly what was beneath Verdant) back together again. The idea of being separated from Felicity by an entire building day in and day out was just unthinkable to Oliver. And then she had suggested that perhaps, in an effort to avoid accusations of nepotism, she should leave Queen Consolidated entirely. To say that Oliver had reacted poorly was putting it _very_ mildly.  
  
Without conscious thought, he found himself confessing in a whisper to the otherwise still and silent room. “It’s not _just_ about keeping you near me so that I can protect you. I also need… you protect me as well, Felicity. You help me breathe when the rest of the world starts to close in around me. My head clears so that I can focus, so that I can think. Time slows down enough that I don’t feel stuck in the past or paralyzed with fear. Hearing your voice grounds me. Though my heart rate is still slightly elevated simply because you’re near, it’s the good kind of intensity. It reminds me that I’m home, that I’m safe, that I’m… happy. If I’m going to do this, if I’m going to come out from underneath my hood and try to right my family’s wrongs in the light of day as well, then I’m going to need you with me. I can’t do this without you, Felicity; I can’t… be me… without you.”  
  
His first indication that not only had she heard every word but that Felicity and her displeasure were starting to melt towards him was a put upon huff, but the annoyance was obviously feigned and more an obligatory effort than anything else. And then Felicity was flipping over to face him once more, scooting over in bed so that she could curl around him, her usual sleeping position, and rest her left hand, fingers splayed out, against his heart. “Don’t smudge my ring,” she commanded with a pout.   
  
It was only then that Oliver recalled the fact that he had been fretting over the very important piece of jewelry. Instead of responding, he slipped the engagement ring, a ruby - red for life, and vitality, and passion; red for the pen she was chewing the day they met; a ruby for her birthstone; and red for the color of her lips after Felicity… or Oliver… finished nibbling on them, onto the finger where it belonged, now and always. It was a new piece, something Oliver selected himself rather than simply retrieving from the family vault, because he did not want to start the rest of his life with Felicity by giving her a ring burdened by the past.  
  
“I won’t leave QC,” she murmured snuggling even deeper into his embrace.  
  
“And you’ll come and work me on the executive floor?” Oliver knew he was pressing his luck, but, well, anything but having her at his side just… wouldn’t work. If she wouldn’t come to him, then he’d move the CEO office into her IT cubicle, the many complications this would cause be damned.  
  
“Fine.” Before he could react, Felicity poked him hard in the center of his chest. “But I will not be your secretary.”  
  
“Of course not.” However, they would need to find someone to fill that role… for the both of them, someone who they could trust explicitly with _all_ aspects of their lives, because one did not stop being a vigilante when the sun made its appearance every morning.  
  
“Or your assistant… of any variety.”  
  
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”  
  
She snorted then, the sound a mixture of laughter and incredulity. “Oh, you’ve _dreamt_ of it, Oliver.”  
  
He squeezed her hip, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead, but he didn’t deny her insinuation. He couldn’t. Instead, Oliver suggested, “what about the technology liaison for and advisor to the CEO?”  
  
Felicity was quiet for several moments, obviously in thought, but, still, the delay in her response was agonizing for Oliver. If she didn’t agree with his idea, if it made her mad once again…. “I accept your proposal,” Felicity stated softly. Her words were accompanied by a small spasm of her hand as she curled her fingers into the scarred flesh of his chest and then let them fall to rest once more.   
  
Without acknowledging the double entendre, they both knew that, with those four words, Felicity had consented to something far more important than her new job title.   
  
Holding her to him just that much tighter, Oliver vowed that, no matter what he would have to do in the future, that night would be the last time they ever went to bed angry.

<\---

Thea Queen was Malcolm Merlyn’s biological daughter.  
  
That meant that not only was Oliver _just_ Thea’s half brother, but Tommy had also been her half brother as well.  
  
While Felicity couldn’t understand why anyone would _ever_ want to reproduce with Malcolm Merlyn (or how one could find themselves in a position where that could even be possible), it did better explain Moira’s actions - not excuse, by any means, but explain. She hated how Moira used family loyalty and the love of her children to justify her actions, especially because, aware of her emotional manipulations or not, she could twist Oliver up and make him feel guilty for not blindly accepting Moira’s reprehensible behavior, but, at least in this one case, Felicity found herself sympathizing with her future mother-in-law. And even agreeing with her.  
  
No matter what, Thea could _never_ know her true paternity.  
  
It was late. With the July 4th weekend upon them, a heat wave suffocating the city, and so many people from the Glades still displaced and always disillusioned, everyone seemed on edge. After volunteering for the day, Felicity and Oliver had returned to the skeleton of a club (and the lair beneath) that Verdant now was rather than going home. Oliver wanted to monitor the police reports in case there was any real trouble, and Felicity had suggested doing so from the roof of the old steel factory. While the official Starling City fireworks display had been cancelled that year - QC, the regular sponsor, deciding the money could be better spent elsewhere, she had no doubt that there would be rogue, private shows, and the roof would provide them with the best view. Diggle had gone home, so it was supposed to be just the two of them, but Thea (and Roy by extension) had other ideas.  
  
Felicity hung back in the shadows, neither purposefully hiding nor announcing her presence, as Oliver’s little sister all but attacked him. Months of resentment and vitriol bubbled forth in the shape of ugly words and even uglier emotions, leaving the younger woman’s body trembling. But Thea wouldn’t cave. She needed to cry. She needed that physical manifestation and release of all of her pent-up feelings. But allowing herself the luxury of tears would have been admitting that it wasn’t just fury she was fighting against.  
  
She railed against Oliver for how he was mourning or, in her opinion, _not_ mourning for his best friend. She yelled that, unlike Oliver, she wasn’t going to forget Tommy or the people who loved him the most; she wasn’t going to dishonor his memory. Felicity watched on as Oliver struggled to hold back the truth about the state of their friendship at the time of Tommy’s death. Sure, the rift between the two men would have been difficult to explain without also confessing Oliver’s hooded secret, but, when it came to Thea, Felicity knew that Oliver’s true motivation in biting his tongue was to protect his baby sister’s memory of the friend she had loved and the brother she’d hopefully never know.   
  
When her dissatisfaction in regards to Oliver’s reaction to Tommy’s death didn’t get her anywhere, Thea switched tactics, shouting at her brother about his recent treatment of their mother, forgetting that, just a few months prior, it had been Thea herself leading the charge against Moira. Yet, with Tommy dead, Walter gone, and Thea’s view of the world tumbled right along with the Glades, it was obvious that the troubled teen was holding onto anything, anyone, she could… including the mother whose faults she had been the first to see but, now, was the most eager to ignore. On the topic of his mother, Oliver once more remained silent. After all, what could he say? If he wouldn’t risk taking Tommy away from Thea by admitting the truth, then he surely wouldn’t destroy her relationship with their mother either.  
  
But then Thea moved on to Felicity, and Oliver’s relationship with her, and their engagement, and Oliver’s previous quiet sympathy and reserved warmth evaporated. His hands clenched at his sides, and his face became a stone mask. Thea challenged that Felicity was intentionally trying to drive a wedge between Oliver and the people who _really_ loved him, that she was changing Oliver… and not for the better. She made him distant, and cold, and hard, and unapproachable, and, frankly, Thea did not see the appeal.   
  
Oliver didn’t defend her, but Felicity wasn’t hurt by his silence, because she knew, in that moment, if he said anything, he’d say _everything_ , and it had never been more obvious that, in this one lie - allowing Thea and the world to believe Robert Queen to be Thea’s father, Moira’s example should be followed, for Thea was too emotionally unstable and her identity too nebulous to challenge with the truth. And Felicity didn’t step forward to defend herself, because she didn’t really care what Thea Queen thought of her or her relationship with Oliver. Would it be nice to have the support of his sister? Sure. But she didn’t need it. And, if this was how Thea was going to treat her brother - by not even giving him a chance, then Felicity didn’t really want Thea’s approval either. Thea didn’t actually know her brother… at least not the man he was now rather than the boy who had left (and died) six years prior, and it was obvious that she had no desire to get to know him either. Her next words just proved as much as well.  
  
“Why can’t you just be _my_ brother again?”  
  
“I am, Speedy.”  
  
“No,” Thea denied, slowly backing away from Oliver. “You really aren’t.”  
  
Roy slipped away then, too. Throughout the confrontation, he had awkwardly been hanging back… much like Felicity, but, as Thea’s boyfriend and Oliver’s newly appointed assistant - it was neither a confirmation nor a denial of Roy’s suspicions regarding the vigilante, but it was a good job while Verdant was being rebuilt and a chance for them to assess his trustworthiness and discretion, the encounter between the siblings had to be just that much more uncomfortable and distressing for him. But Felicity would worry about Roy later. In that moment, though, Oliver deserved and warranted all of her attention and care.  
  
Quickly walking forward so that she could come to stand beside him, Felicity laced her left hand with Oliver’s right, making sure that he could feel the smooth coolness of her engagement ring against his warm, always so warm, skin. She didn’t ask him if he was alright, because, obviously, he wasn’t. And she didn’t offer him empty platitudes or an apology that should really have come from his younger sister. Instead, she offered him her support and love, silently promising herself that Thea’s cruel censure would be the last time Felicity held back from defending the man she loved and was going to marry. 

<\---

As Oliver went back to the sales projections he was reading, he found himself marveling over how Felicity even made what was essentially studying, something the four time college dropout had never excelled at nor enjoyed, better. Granted, they approached working together in an unorthodox fashion, to say the least. Although she technically had an office down the hall from his own, they shared his space, a second desk having been brought in for Felicity to use… when they weren’t curled up on the couch together instead, one of Oliver’s hands holding some report or other while the second smoothed up and down Felicity’s legs which inevitably ended up draped over his lap. While he took notes, he’d whisper the calluses of his fingertips against the delicate, fine bones of her ankles, making Felicity, who could get lost in her work faster than anyone else Oliver knew, unconsciously squirm and wiggle against him. He’d slip her shoes off when she wasn’t paying attention and run his knuckles over the elegant arches of her feet. Felicity’s toes would flex and point in response. And Oliver would slip his restless touch under the hems of her skirts and dresses - never to an inappropriate level or in an effort to seduce, for Felicity prided herself on her professionalism, and Oliver would never want to disrespect her in that way, but he found that he craved the intimacy, the reminder and reassurance that only he could be that close to her. She centered him.   
  
Hell, for the last few weeks, they had even been sharing an assistant, too. Offering the job to Roy had been Felicity’s idea, of course. Perhaps surprising no one more than Roy himself, the younger man was quite good at it. While he still complained about the dress code day in and day out, and while he refused to run Oliver’s errands or fetch him coffee (Roy had declared he wasn’t _that_ kind of assistant; Felicity had obviously coached him), he was efficient, prompt, he had absolutely no patience for nonsense, never offered nor would he accept excuses from anybody, he was one hell of a gatekeeper - if Oliver and Felicity didn’t want to see somebody, they weren’t getting by Roy, and, most importantly, he _cared_. Roy wanted to be better; he wanted to be _more_. And he wanted those same things for the Glades, too. Working for Oliver and Felicity allowed him to do that… or, at least, to start making a difference not only in his own life but in his community as well. A part of Oliver was hoping that, by improving his lot in life, Roy would forget about his admiration for the vigilante and move past wanting to change the world through violence, but, if he didn’t, they were that much closer to accepting him as a member of the team.   
  
“You want to tell her, don’t you?”  
  
“Hmm?,” Oliver hummed in his distraction. Maybe he had been lulled by the feel of Felicity’s skin against his, but, if her question was any indication, the sense of calm was not mutual. “Tell who what?”  
  
“Laurel.” It was more Felicity’s timid and unsure voice which made Oliver put his paperwork down than it was the name she said. Resituating himself on the sofa so that he was better facing her, though Oliver never let go of her legs, he waited patiently for his fianceé to continue. “You want to tell her about Malcolm - about how he’s the Dark Archer; about how he created the earthquake which took down the Glades and killed thousands, including his own son; about how, whatever his end goal, he’s not finished yet. Don’t you?”  
  
“The thought never even crossed my mind.”  
  
“Because then you’d have to tell her about _you_ ,” Felicity surmised.   
  
But she was wrong - so very, very wrong.  
  
Laurel had come barging into his office half an hour earlier, using her personal connection to Oliver and her new professional position as legal counsel at Merlyn Global to convince Roy that she didn’t need an appointment. It was barely two o’clock, Oliver and Felicity having just finished a working lunch, but Laurel arrived obviously drunk and spoiling for a fight. Given her poor concentration, inelegant arguments, and slowed breathing, Oliver suspected that she had also been high on pills, too - some kind of anti-anxiety medication or sedative, perhaps both. Apparently, she was self-medicating, attempting to numb the pain and regret she felt over Tommy’s death, something that her actions and accusations made quite clear.  
  
Oliver wasn’t sure if her surprise intrusion was at Malcolm’s behest or not, but Laurel made it perfectly clear that she did not approve of or appreciate how Oliver was responding to the destruction of the Glades, something she now saw as justified after it not only caused Rebecca Merlyn’s death but also Tommy’s as well. She demanded to know why Oliver was refusing to sell QC properties to Merlyn Global, why he was wasting the company’s and his personal resources in his efforts to assist the survivors and rebuild a part of the city that needed to stay destroyed. By going against Malcolm and for not holding the Glades accountable, Laurel charged Oliver with dishonoring Tommy’s memory. And then finally, as the pièce de résistance of her visit, she made it clear that she knew the truth about Thea’s paternity, Malcolm evidently having told her.  
  
“If I thought that telling Laurel the truth would help her, then I would. I would take that chance with my own freedom, because, let’s face it, I owe her as much.”  
  
“Oh, Oliver,” Felicity sighed, bending forward at the waist so that she could tenderly and compassionately cup his jaw. Like she always seemed to do now, she used her left hand, allowing him to feel that extra reassurance of his ring on her finger.   
  
“But I don’t think that she would believe me. She’s too lost in her own grief and guilt. To justify her own actions, I believe she’d somehow twist everything around and end up blaming me for what happened to the Glades, for Tommy. And I certainly don’t trust her either. Laurel wouldn’t be content with just bringing me down. She’d go after you, and she’d go after John, and she’d try to hurt anyone who ever meant anything to me.”  
  
Felicity’s brow furrowed, though her eyes sparked with sudden comprehension. It was obvious that she had just made an important connection, something Oliver himself would never have seen. He loved watching her brain work. “Laurel’s mirroring Malcolm. If she’s reacting this way to losing Tommy, then everything that is happening now, including whatever his end-game is regarding Thea, can be traced back to Malcolm losing Rebecca. That’s where I need to look; that’s where I need to focus my research.”  
  
Felicity groaned then, essentially tossing her laptop onto the coffee table before them. It was the most careless he had ever seen her with tech. “Can’t we leave early? Can’t we go home now? I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to start digging right away.”  
  
“Work now, play later,” Oliver told her in amusement. While he found her pouting adorable and her enthusiasm endearing, if Felicity’s work ethic slipped, his was doomed.   
  
“You’re no fun.”  
  
“That’s not what you said last night. Or this morning. Twice.”  
  
“Hmm, that was _nice_ ,” Felicity relented. So she didn’t have to move, Oliver reached out to snag her laptop for her, gingerly placing it back within her grasp. If, at the same time, he just so happened to brush his fingers against the petal soft skin of her abdomen where cutouts in her dress all but begged for his touch, he felt like it was a fair exchange. “Okay fine.” And, without further ado, Felicity returned to whatever task she had interrupted moments before with her inquiry about Laurel and Oliver’s reaction to her visit, completely absorbed within seconds.  
  
Although Oliver resumed his gentle and repetitive caresses of Felicity’s legs, unlike before, he did find his mind drifting towards his ex. But it wasn’t in worry, or fear, or even sympathy. Instead, Oliver realized that, although he would always be sorry for… so much when it came to his relationship with Laurel, he no longer regretted what happened between them. He couldn’t. Because, in the end, everything combined led him to the woman sitting beside him and unwittingly humming to herself. Perhaps that made him selfish, but, right or wrong, it was the last time Oliver would ever feel guilty in regards to Laurel Lance. 

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Felicity’s first formal social event as Oliver Queen’s fianceé had been quite the night of surprises.   
  
What was supposed to be a charity event actually turned out to be Moira’s mayoral bid announcement and fundraiser kickoff. In the Queen family matriarch’s eyes, however, the two were one in the same. After all, what was more valuable than _her_ time? And wasn’t the best way to help the people of the Glades to give them a voice, someone who would fight for them and fight to make a difference? Who cares if a large portion of the population who would have opposed her candidacy was dead, while those who weren’t had more important things to worry about - oh, say, food, clothing, and shelter - than to make sure that they were registered to vote? If she could run a multi-billion dollar company, then surely she could govern a mid-size city. It felt like, despite removing her from QC and taking away one of Malcolm’s favorite weapons, he was still five steps ahead of them. Why control the CEO of the city’s largest employer when you could control the future mayor?  
  
Speaking of Malcom Merlyn, of course he had been there as well, singing Moira’s praises louder and more often than anyone else. While being in the same room as the man who had leveled the Glades was bad enough, especially now that he had correctly surmised Oliver’s secret identity on the same day they, together, realized his, he hadn’t attended alone. No, Malcolm had walked into the party with not one but two women half his age on his arm: Laurel Lance and Helena Bertinelli.  
  
Helena’s presence at such a public gathering had been a shock on its own… given that she was a wanted woman. Or, well, _had_ been a wanted woman. Apparently, according to Malcolm, it had all been some big misunderstanding involving the Hood, who was really to blame, and some mystery, blonde female vigilante posing as Helena in a dark wig and in her patricidal mission. At Malcolm’s behest, Detective Lance cleared it right up for them. They _claimed_ that Helena was there as Malcolm’s date, though her eyes following Oliver the whole night and her thinly veiled allusions to Thea’s paternity - ‘ _Do all the women in your life have Daddy issues, Oliver?’_ \- said otherwise.   
  
But the biggest bombshell of the night belonged to Laurel. Strutting around like a peacock with his chest puffed out the entire evening, Malcolm Merlyn introduced Laurel not as his company’s latest legal counsel, or as his late son’s girlfriend, but as the mother of his first grandchild and future heir. In contrast, Laurel herself was far from glowing with maternal pride. She was quiet and withdrawn the entire evening, the fine tremor of an alcoholic suddenly forced sober shadowing her every step.   
  
And Oliver had barely reacted. He avoided his mother, and he ignored Helena, and he offered Laurel nothing more than the ghost of a congratulatory smile. While Felicity herself didn’t know how to respond to the revelations, she did not share complicated, fraught relationships with the three women. Even now, hours later and finally free of the many pressures of the evening, she didn’t know what to say or how to broach the topics with Oliver. Yet, as they walked into their bedroom together - Oliver already stripping out of his formal wear, Felicity knew she had to say something.   
  
“Do you think she can win?” She chose to discuss Moira first. While Oliver’s feelings towards his mother were complicated, Felicity’s were not, and Moira was common, familiar ground for them.   
  
“I think it’s less about her being able to win and more about who’s going to beat her?”  
  
Felicity emptied her clutch, putting its contents on her nightstand before tossing the beaded bag onto the top shelf of her closet. Without prompting, Oliver, who was already down to nothing but his boxer-briefs, his own clothes neatly having been placed in their dry clean bag, came up behind her and unzipped her dress. Felicity didn’t thank him out loud; instead, she bussed a kiss against his shoulder as she walked away from him. Oliver took a seat at her vanity table, while Felicity paced the room, letting first her dress and then her shoes land where they may. They were new, and they were beautiful, and she had spent more on that outfit than any other in her entire life… which was ridiculous, because they had believed they were attending a party to raise money for people who had nothing but the ragged clothes on their backs and the meager food from soup kitchens in the bellies… if they were lucky, but Felicity was too concerned with Moira, and Helena, and Laurel, and Oliver’s non-responses to them to worry about a ruffle getting wrinkled or a stiletto getting scratched.  
  
“Well, she can be bested. You’ve proven as much.”  
  
“I couldn’t be the Hood, CEO of Queen Consolidated, and the mayor of Starling City… even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”  
  
When it came to taking off her jewelry, however, Felicity did slow down and pay attention, carefully handling and precisely locking away the loaned - _so loaned!..._ and going back to the store at the earliest possible date and time - diamond, and ruby, and rose gold, and white gold, and, for all she knew, unicorn dusted set. While the priceless baubles had made her feel confident going into a setting that evening where she felt anything but - her own suit of green leather, in a way, there was no way she was going to let Oliver convince her that they should keep them. Her engagement ring was precious and intimidating enough.   
  
“It’s too bad there’s not another Queen who we could rope into running QC.”  
  
“There’s not?”  
  
“Well, I mean, there’s Thea.” Felicity didn’t care what the money trail or Thea’s genes said; she would always be a Queen. “While I have no doubt that the day will come when Thea will be fully capable of running a Fortune 500 company, that day is not today.”  
  
“Felicity,” Oliver tried to fully capture her attention and pull her away from their current topic of discussion.  
  
But she was too far down the rabbit hole. “What about a cousin? You have to have a Queen cousin out there somewhere. Maybe an uncle or an aunt? For years, wasn’t the motto for wealthy families ‘an heir and a spare?’ If your father was the heir, who was his backup?”  
  
Instead of answering, Oliver ordered Felicity to “come here,” indicating to him where he was still seated on her vanity’s bench. Startled by his demanding and curt tone, Felicity jumped, though she wasn’t scared. If anything, she was… intrigued. Assuming Oliver wanted her to finish her nightly routine so that they could go to bed and put the horrible night behind them, Felicity crossed the room, but, when she got to Oliver, he didn’t stand up and relinquish the settee to her. Instead, he twisted around so that he was facing the mirror and then pulled her down to sit on his lap.   
  
While they were great at sharing a shower, and while Felicity still felt a thrill run up her spine every time she and Oliver stood at the sink together to brush their teeth, her apartment only had one bathroom, and the two of them did not need yet another reason to be late to work in the mornings; their nighttime activities and Oliver’s less than enthusiastic approach to running his family’s company caused enough tardiness all on their own. Their solution was a vanity for the bedroom, and, as Felicity settled down on Oliver’s thighs, making sure to rock her hips from side to side a time or two for good measure, she was yet again glad of the purchase.   
  
Oliver wasted no time in removing her strapless bra, dropping it to the side. For a man who was so fastidious with his own clothes, Oliver was quite lackadaisical with Felicity’s. As she started the task of removing her makeup, Oliver finally addressed her questions regarding his family. “There are no cousins, no aunt, no uncle.” Suddenly, his voice was deeper, his words coming slower. He sounded distant and distracted, like it was a struggle to concentrate. Given that he was tracing random patterns into the naked flesh of her back, across her shoulders, down her sides, and even through the sheer back of her bikini panties, the only thing besides her engagement ring and her industrial piercing that she still wore, his preoccupation was understandable. And appreciated. Felicity’s heart rate and breathing accelerated rapidly. “My dad was an only child. I think that’s one of the reasons why he loved Thea so much - because, growing up, he was so lonely, having a second child, a daughter, allowed him to give me something he never had himself but always wanted.”  
  
“So, then, who did you mean when you said…?” Felicity all but swallowed her own words _and tongue_ when Oliver, still with his legs bent and Felicity in his lap, pushed not only himself but also her up far enough to remove his underwear, essentially performing a wall squat… without a wall. As soon as the cotton material met his knees, Oliver sat back down, the boxer-briefs falling onto the floor to land on his feet. Felicity tried to scoot over so that she could straddle one of his legs, enjoying the play of his thigh muscles underneath her sensitive, awakened flesh. Before she could even grind down against him once, Oliver had her by the waist, his hands spanning her entire torso, as he pulled her back and positioned her directly onto his hard, hot cock, the heat of him bleeding through her panties. “What exactly are you doing back there,” she asked him with a teasing lilt.   
  
But Oliver just grunted in impatience. With questing hands, he reached down between her legs and attempted to pull her bikini briefs to the side. Even once she was exposed, however, the angle was awkward - the vanity too close and Oliver too tall. Felicity tried to pull away so that she could reposition them, but, before she could, Oliver pleaded with her, “hold this, please,” indicating her underwear, and then he reached around her, his left forearm going under her right leg and then his hand coming up to clench her hip. In one fluid, dizzying, impressive move, he lifted her, turned her in the air, caught her left hip with his free hand, and then brought her down onto his fat, swollen, leaking dick. Oliver groaned in satisfaction once they were joined; Felicity cried out in need, throwing her head back.  
  
With her free hand gripping one of his massive shoulders, Felicity took control. Knees splayed on either side of Oliver’s wide, powerful legs, she’d lift up so that only the head of his cock was still inside of her before plunging back down completely, her ass crushed against his thighs. Oliver buried his face in her chest, his hands claiming her neck and the small of her back. With every hard, slow thrust, Felicity would arch her back, and tilt her hips, and scrape her pelvis against his abdomen, stimulating her clit and, all the while, her right hand was there between them, holding her panties open and rubbing against Oliver on every stroke.   
  
Neither of them lasted long.  
  
Felicity orgasmed first; she always orgasmed first, Oliver seemingly not allowing himself any pleasure until she was completely sated. When she reached her peak and tumbled off of it, Felicity gasped roughly, her breath getting caught in her throat. Immediately, she went boneless, melting against Oliver and just… hanging there for a moment until he gently curved her back up to fold in against him. Without conscious thought, she let go of her panties, her right hand reaching for and then covering the scarred and tattooed flesh over his heart. “Love you,” she murmured against the pulse in his neck, licking the hollow of his throat before kissing his adam’s apple when he swallowed roughly.   
  
With the vibrations of her climax still fluttering the walls of her sex, Felicity engaged the muscles of her core and strangled Oliver’s cock which was still buried to the hilt inside of her. The crushing pressure was enough to spur him into action once more. Lifting the both of them clear off of the ottoman, Oliver surged into her body once, twice, and then, on his third thrust, came hard and fast. Felicity lifted her head just in time to see the bliss sweep across Oliver’s features, blanketing him in wave after wave of contentment and pleasure.  
  
It was in that moment that she recognized, though heightened from sex, the man she loved, the man she was going to marry, _always_ looked at her that way, and, suddenly, his behavior that evening was no longer confusing or concerning. Oliver wasn’t in denial about his ex-girlfriend being pregnant with his deceased best friend’s baby. He wasn’t disregarding the threat that a scorned and bitter Helena Bertinelli posed for them. And he wasn’t _not_ worried about his mother running for political office at the behest of Malcolm Merlyn. Despite everything around them falling (or being torn) apart, they were solid, and Oliver was happy; with her, because of her, for her, Oliver was happy.   
  
That all important and momentous realization would prove to make that night the last time Felicity ever felt insecure about any of the other women in Oliver’s life, her relationship with him, or her place in his world. 

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“Roy?” When Oliver paused to wait for the younger man to look up at and acknowledge him, he suddenly felt Felicity’s gaze drilling into the tender spot between his shoulder blades. “Can you come in here for a moment, please?” Though Roy did nothing more than raise his eyebrows in acknowledgement of the request, he stood immediately, following Oliver into the main office. “Take a seat,” Oliver gestured towards the chairs in front of his desk. He settled himself behind the modern table, Felicity coming over to claim one of the surface’s front corners. She crossed one leg over the other, rocking side to side on her generous bum in an effort to get comfortable. The moment caused her ponytail to sway, and Oliver found his eyes drawn away from the conversation he had initiated and onto the discreet cutouts along her back. He found himself wanting to stand, to go to her side, and just… touch her. He could slip his hands under the bow, run its length through….  
  
“So…,” Roy questioned unsurely, snapping Oliver out of his indulgent thoughts. He darted his attention back to the nontraditional assistant who was looking back and forth curiously between his two bosses.   
  
“There’s something that I need to tell you.”  
  
Abruptly animated, Roy exclaimed, “finally!”  
  
Oliver remained calm, frowning slightly. “It’s not what you think.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s not… wait, what?” Ever since Helena leveled her veiled yet no less significant threat against Thea at his mother’s mayoral bid announcement, Felicity had been arguing in favor of bringing Roy officially into the know and onto the team… not that Oliver considered it that. She believed it was the best way that they could protect Thea, but Oliver wasn’t too sure. Plus, Felicity maintained that Roy had proven himself trustworthy, resourceful, and deserving of the truth. Surprising no one more than himself, Oliver liked Roy, too. Maybe that was why, for one of the first times in their relationship, he didn’t agree with her. “It’s not?”  
  
Oliver spared just a moment to look at his fianceé, trying to convey to her with a single nod that he knew what he was doing and to ask for her patience and faith before turning back to Roy. “Before I say anything more, however, you need to know what you’re getting yourself into if you agree to this.” Though Roy looked perturbed that Oliver wasn’t going to confirm that he was the Hood… which was justified given that his avoidance of the matter _was_ becoming kind of ridiculous, the younger man couldn’t hide his curiosity, so he held his tongue. “It concerns Thea. When… _if_ she ever learned what I’m about to tell you, and she found out that you knew and kept it from her, she’d never forgive you. I know it’s a horrible position to put you in, but…”  
  
“Is she in danger,” Roy interrupted, scooting forward to sit at the edge of his seat. It was like, depending upon Oliver’s answer, he might just get up in the middle of their conversation and run off to protect his girlfriend if need be, and that was exactly why Oliver wanted him to know the truth.   
  
At least, _that_ truth.  
  
“She’s probably physically safer than almost anyone else in this city.”  
  
“Eh,” Felicity contested. “She might be safe _from_ him, but you don’t graduate with a PhD in murdering sociopath from the University of Super Villains without making a few enemies along the way.”  
  
“Wait, is this about the Dark Archer?” While the cops had been less than forthright with the citizens of Starling City about all of the Dark Archer’s crimes, Roy didn’t exactly get his information from the news or a police scanner. “If he has something to do with Thea, then you need to tell me. Now.”  
  
“He does. And yet he doesn’t.” While Roy was quickly becoming agitated, Oliver was managing to hold onto his own calm. Felicity was there with him, after all. Even her ill-advised and poorly timed humor helped. “One last time, Roy, are you sure you want to know? Thea is… struggling right now. What I’m about to tell you terrifies me, but I’m also afraid of what would happen if Thea lost you.” That was yet another reason why Oliver held being the vigilante back from Roy. If Roy _knew_ that Oliver was the Hood, then he’d want to join him, and, if something happened to Roy because of Oliver and his mission, then Thea would never forgive him. Hell, he wouldn’t forgive himself.   
  
“I know. I’ve tried everything I can think of to help her,” Roy confessed, rubbing his sharp jaw in dismay. “When I asked her about going to college, she just got mad at me, said if I’m too good for school, what does that make her? I suggested she ask you if she could help with Verdant once it’s back up and running, but she claimed she never played with your hand-me-downs as a child, and she wasn’t about to start now. So, I told her to start her own business then… which just made her complain about not having access to her trust fund yet. Finally, I told her that she should come and work here. After all, this is her family company as well. Plus, Felicity’s like a walking, talking book. She could teach Thea more than any university could.”  
  
“Aw, that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me, Roy,” _Oliver’s_ fianceé gushed. He scowled at her, though there was no heat behind the gesture… nor was she aware of it either. “You should get a raise.” Turning back to look at him, Felicity hooked a thumb over her shoulder in Roy’s direction. “He gets a raise, Oliver.”   
  
It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order, though Roy was too worked up to play along with the light moment. “I don’t need a raise. I already make way more than I ever thought I could. Legally.” Shaking his head as though he could also shake away Felicity’s distraction with the same, simple action, their assistant returned them to their previous topic. “Given how Thea feels about you right now,” he indicated Oliver, “and you, well, always,” he glanced regretfully towards Felicity, “you can imagine how well my idea about her working at QC with us went over.”  
  
“What are you saying, Roy?” It wasn’t that Oliver didn’t understand what the younger man was telling them about Thea, but he needed to know what it all meant in regards to the bigger picture and what Roy wanted to do regarding the secret Oliver had to share with him.   
  
“I’m saying that it won’t matter if Thea loses me if we lose her first, and I’m afraid that, if one more thing goes wrong for her, that’s exactly what will happen. So, I want you to tell me… whatever it is. No, I think you need to tell me. At least, if I know, I can… I don’t know?... be prepared, I guess. I’d rather know what’s coming at me and fight it head on than run away like a coward and still get screwed over by it.”  
  
Oliver took a deep breath, exhaling loudly, and then he looked Roy straight in the eyes. “My mother had an affair with Malcolm Merlyn.”  
  
“Wait, so Thea was right all along?!”  
  
Ignoring the outburst, Oliver reiterated, “my mother had an affair with Malcolm Merlyn,” but then he added, “ _nineteen_ years ago.” Although Moira had allowed them all to believe that she had been unfaithful to Walter with Malcolm, it had really been Oliver’s own father whom she cheated on… and with his best friend at the time no less. Sadly, his mother wasn’t the only one of the two of them guilty of that particular marital sin. Returning to the present moment, Oliver watched as an agape Roy put the pieces of the paternity puzzle together, though he didn’t put the onus of saying it out loud on the younger man. “Malcolm is Thea’s biological father.”  
  
“So, that means that Tommy wasn’t just her friend; he was also her half brother. And his kid will be Thea’s niece or nephew?”  
  
Oddly enough, Oliver himself hadn’t made the connection between Laurel’s pregnancy and Thea’s unwitting role in the child’s life. Nevertheless, Thea would be an aunt in a matter of months. “I guess so.”  
  
Suddenly remembering an earlier aspect of their conversation, Roy cried out, “you said this had something to do with the Dark Archer?” Frantically looking between Oliver and Felicity, he demanded, “what the hell does Malcolm being Thea’s dad have to do with the Dark Archer?”  
  
“That’s why I wanted you to know about this, Roy, because Malcolm Merlyn isn’t just Thea’s biological father.” Unlike Roy, Oliver couldn’t bring himself to call Merlyn Thea’s dad. Dad implied rocking her to sleep at night when she didn’t feel well, teaching her how to throw a ball, and threatening bodily harm to her dates. Admitting Malcolm was her father was horrible enough. “He’s also the Dark Archer.”  
  
“Oh my god,” Roy collapsed back against his chair. Shaking his head in what was maybe denial or could have even been shock, their assistant continued, “I can’t believe it, yet, at the same time, I can. That dude is really intense and… super creepy. And you said he went to some kind of… assassin school,” Roy directed at Felicity.   
  
“It’s called the….”  
  
“I really don’t think Roy needs to know everything, Felicity,” Oliver prevented her from saying any more. She whipped her head around to glare at him from over her shoulder, and he could tell that she was… less than pleased with his decision to hold the whole truth, his truth, back from the younger man. However, despite this, she didn’t go against his wishes, schooling her features once more as she turned back to compassionately watch Roy as he absorbed this new, earth shattering… in more ways than one... information. “What we told him today, it’s a lot to take in. It’s enough… for now.”  
  
While Felicity was still fighting for Oliver to tell Roy about his secret, Roy himself was too overwhelmed by the reveal of Thea’s paternity and the unmasking of the Dark Archer to even remember his suspicions regarding Oliver’s nighttime activities… let alone what Oliver and Felicity having this information about Malcolm implied about their own involvement with Merlyn and his villainous counterpart. And that suited Oliver just fine.  
  
“Thea can _never_ find out about… any of this,” Roy declared emphatically.  
  
“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” Felicity sighed in sympathy and commiseration. Despite how awful Thea was towards her, Felicity was nothing but compassionate where his sister was concerned. It was just one more reason why Oliver loved her. “We’re not the only ones who know the truth.”  
  
“Does Malcolm know?”  
  
“He does.” Despite Felicity literally being within his reach and despite how well Roy was handling what they were sharing with him, Oliver could still feel himself becoming frustrated in his powerlessness, the reality that, while he could prepare for Thea’s emotional devastation should she learn the truth, he could do absolutely nothing, short of permanently silencing those in the know, to prevent his little sister’s entire world from being destroyed. Rubbing his right thumb against his calloused index and middle fingers, Oliver tried to tamp down on his emotions once more. “Up until recently, he’s been content with just lording it over my mom, but now that he’s….”  
  
“What do you mean by that,” Roy cut Oliver off. Before he could respond, the younger man shot to his feet, rocketing forward to lean against the desk in closer confrontation. Startled by the sudden movement, Felicity also stood, though she came around to stand at Oliver’s side, settling her right hand on his left shoulder. Her touch was gentle, but it was enough to keep him seated, to keep him grounded. “If he was blackmailing her… if the Dark Archer was blackmailing her, was she… did she have something to do with the earthquakes?” Oliver hesitated for a moment before giving Roy the answer he deserved: he nodded once in the affirmative. Roy stood up straight, blinked rapidly, and then looked upwards. When he spoke again, it was more to himself than to Oliver and Felicity, though they could hear him clearly. “Why doesn’t that shock me more?”  
  
“He’s telling people now,” Felicity took over for Oliver, giving him a reprieve. “First Laurel, and now Helena Bertinelli.”  
  
“Helena’s the chick you dated before Felicity, right, and now Malcolm is dating her?”  
  
“I did not date Helena,” Oliver denied decisively. He tried to be her friend, but Felicity was in his heart and in his head by that point, so, when she started to kill, he stopped trying to be there for her. And Oliver had never been more glad about the fact that he hadn’t dated Helena, though she had made it evident that she was interested, than when Merlyn showed up at his mother’s party with Helena on his arm, though whether they were _actually_ dating was doubtful.   
  
Felicity said as much… in a perfectly Felicity way. “If only we were dealing with a May-December relationship! Helena has daddy issues, but that’s not why she was with Malcolm. They’re - the Dark Archer and the Huntress - are working together, she knows the truth about Thea, and Helena’s a sandwich short of a full picnic, so… not good. What’s worse, we don’t know why Merlyn has, all of a sudden, decided to start spilling the paternity beans.”  
  
“I… thank you,” Roy told them profoundly. “Thank you for trusting me with this. I won’t… I want you to know that I won’t let you down. Whether you’re the Hood or not ...”  
  
“It’s the Arrow now, actually,” Felicity interjected. Attempting… and failing adorably to wink over her shoulder at Oliver, she added, “or… so I’ve heard. Around. As you do. When you have ears. And you listen. With them.” Eyes wide in mortification, she looked back at Oliver, silently begging him to put her out of her misery.  
  
But Roy did that, more focused on his own words than Felicity's and too intent upon what he wanted to tell them. “I’ve been training. There’s this boxer from the Glades, Ted Grant. He owns his own gym… or, at least, he did. Before the quakes. He’s still giving lessons, though. A few years back, he was a vigilante, went by the name Wildcat. After what happened, he considered getting back in the game, but I convinced him to help me instead. So, I will do whatever I have to in order to protect Thea… whether you like it or not.” Before Oliver could respond, Roy’s face flooded with the heat of his admission and with challenge. Giving them all an out, he mumbled, “I should get back to work,” and then fled the office, leaving Oliver alone with Felicity once more.  
  
“Well, that could have gone worse,” Felicity analyzed, succinct once more. After spidering her fingers against the back of his neck, she cupped his chin to hold his face still while she dropped several chaste kisses against his stubbled jaw… not that he would ever pull away from her. Then she left him alone, returning to her work and allowing him the chance to gather himself and his thoughts.   
  
If nothing else, Roy’s confession about working with Ted Grant - and Oliver was going to have to look into the boxer now, too - confirmed his stance on the younger man in regards to his mission. Roy was already a big enough threat to himself; he didn’t need Oliver exposing him, and by association Thea, to even more danger. Despite Roy’s impetuousness, Oliver did not doubt his love for Thea or the sincerity of his promise to keep her safe. And, unlike Oliver, Roy could still reach Thea. While he would always love her, and while she would always be his sister… different fathers or not, Olivere realized that it was the last time he would see her as his _kid_ sister, as his Speedy.

<\---

Felicity Smoak was not an eavesdropper. In theory. Yes, if it would help Oliver in his quest to scare the evil out of the rich and make them help the poor, then she’d work up some amazing tech to bug their corrupt tucheses. But that was surveillance, not eavesdropping. And, yes, semantics, but a girl had to have her standards, and that as one of Felicity’s.  
  
So, when she opened the door to Oliver’s secret underground clubhouse (and why did that sound sexual?), and she heard Diggle say her name (and not in greeting), Felicity was going to retreat back into the club and give the guys a chance to finish their conversation in private, but then she started to wonder if Digg had intended for her to overhear him. After all, he knew she was there and that she’d be joining them in a matter of moments after finishing her phone call. While the matter was important to her - Felicity was spearheading an effort to refurbish and donate all of QC’s surplus computer equipment to help set up all of the Glades’ temporary schools until new ones could be built, all of the schools were back in session, their technology labs in operation. Felicity was just dealing with some loose ends and the occasional special request, and Digg, as Oliver’s partner and bodyguard and as Felicity’s friend, knew that.   
  
Because she was torn on what to do, she stayed long enough to hear the context in which she was being discussed, and that all but sealed her snooping fate. “Are you sure about this, man; are you sure about Felicity?”  
  
Oliver’s voice rang with genuine surprise, but, already, there was a slight edge to it as well. “I thought you liked her?”  
  
“I did; I do,” Diggle emphasized. While Felicity wished that she could see the two men as they discussed her, she wasn’t going to risk detection by taking even a single step further. Heck, she was all but holding her breath… which, yay!, at least she was getting her cardio in for the day. Or something like that. “And I think she’s good for you, too.”  
  
“Then I don’t understand…?”  
  
“I don’t think she should be involved in our mission.”   
  
Felicity _really_ wanted to stomp her foot as she mentally told John Diggle ‘ _well, too dang bad_ ,’ but she refrained. Barely. Because, you know, Furtive Felicity. But Diggle questioning her involvement was just… well, dumb. Even if she wasn’t a bad mama-jama with a motherboard, she’d still play a role in Oliver’s life as a vigilante. As the woman who loved him and the woman he loved in return, whatever happened to him, happened to her… one way or another. At least if she was involved with his quest, then she’d be able to be a positive influence rather than just a burden, helping to keep them both safe as she protected Oliver with her shared knowledge and intel. She just hoped that Oliver saw their relationship the same way.  
  
“Is this because she’s a woman?”  
  
“If hitting you upside the head for that question wouldn’t bolster your accusation, you’d be seeing little birds right about now,” Digg promised. “To set the record straight, the biggest badass I know just so happens to be a woman. My ex-wife is second in command for a secret government agency, and she’d be the first in line to disabuse your misogynistic opinion of me.”  
  
So, John Diggle had an ex-wife, huh? That was an interesting nugget of information that Felicity would be examining closer at a later date.  
  
“Felicity is the smartest person I know, Digg.”  
  
“You’ll get no arguments from me there. And I do not doubt her ability to help us, Oliver,” Diggle continued, sighing so loudly that Felicity could hear him all the way across the basement and up the stairs where she stood perched and prying. “What I do doubt is your ability to recover - hell, stay alive - if anything were to happen to her because of your mission.”  
  
Because Oliver took several minutes to respond, Felicity knew that he was taking his time to really consider John’s worries and to frame his answer, whatever it may be, with the amount of thought and gravity Digg deserved. “You’re not _wrong_ ,” Oliver started slowly. And his voice sounded pained - not because he was admitting that someone else was right but because of the emotions the discussion brought up for him. “If I were to lose Felicity…?” He let his sentence hang there, but no one needed him to finish it; they all understood exactly what her death would cost Oliver.   
  
“But keeping her in the dark and ignorant of this part of my life isn’t a guarantee that she would be safe. Felicity was digging into my mother and had a copy of my father’s list because of Walter. She was alone in her apartment at the time of the quakes. If there had been a third machine, or if Merlyn would have positioned them differently, she would have been caught in that destruction, completely unaware and unprepared, and I wouldn’t have been able to do anything to save her. Until the end, I kept my identity a secret from Tommy, and it ruined our friendship. Now, he’s dead. I’ve pushed people away, but they died anyway.”  
  
The two men were silent for a moment, but then a thoughtful, amused Diggle offered, “Felicity would never let us get away with keeping things from her anyway.”  
  
John Diggle wasn’t wrong about that! In fact, when Felicity thought about it, she realized that Digg wasn’t wrong about much. More importantly, with Diggle, Felicity recognized that Oliver had more than just someone to watch his six and a friend; he had a brother, too. With this realization, she made a show of completely entering the basement and joining the two men below. She just wished that she was wearing something a little more fierce - fierce as in _grrr_ and not _gurlll_ \- than her butterfly sweater. As she made her way down the metal stairs already talking about what they should order for dinner with both Diggle and Oliver watching her approach, Felicity smiled at her fiance and her friend, because, thanks to John Diggle, it would be the last time she worried about the losses Oliver had previously suffered in his life. 

<\---

While Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak, and John Diggle were making impressive strides in their efforts to help rebuild the Glades, the Arrow and his partners were completely stagnant when it came to exposing Malcolm Merlyn as the Dark Archer and the mastermind behind the earthquakes which leveled half of the city and killed thousands. Oliver took great pride in thwarting Malcolm’s business moves. Besides the good he did for Starling City, it was perhaps the only aspect of being QC’s CEO that he enjoyed. But as for everything else? He was quite frustrated.  
  
So, when John joined them in the basement that evening, already announcing that he had a plan before he cleared the stairs, Oliver had briefly tasted the hope and adrenaline of anticipation. Key word: briefly. Because, as soon as Diggle started to talk, Oliver inevitably found his gaze transfering from his partner to his fianceé, and Felicity was anything but pleased by what she was hearing. Oliver could tell by the pursed set of her mouth, by her arms tightly folded over her chest, by her narrowed gaze; he could tell by agitation, her right leg crossed over her left and seesawing up and down so harshly that the movement made her ponytail bounce in rhythm and her dangling earrings sway. Digg, however… whether in his excitement or because he was still getting to know Felicity, did not pick up on her less than thrilled reception, barreling along headfirst with an enthusiasm that would only lead to a harsher fall once Felicity finally spoke her mind.   
  
And speak she did. Loudly. “No!” She stood, hands dropping so she could fist them on her sweater dress clad hips. “Absolutely not!” The two denials were directed towards Oliver. And they were bad enough. But then she turned so that she could address Diggle, and Felicity did not hold back. “That has to be the stupidest of stupid ideas in all of stupidity!”  
  
“ _Felicity,_ ” he tried to calm her down. He tried to distract her. He tried to do… something to take the heat of her disappointment off of John.   
  
But the man in Felicity’s crosshairs himself wouldn’t cooperate. Eyes wide in shock and intimidation, he asked, “what the hell was that?,” apparently too astonished by his first experience with Felicity’s temper to really register _what_ she had yelled at him.   
  
“That was my loud voice,” Felicity answered bluntly. Though she wasn’t yelling anymore, she was certainly still demonstratively livid. “Quite frankly, after that… _performance_ , I’m stunned that this is the first time you’re experiencing it.”  
  
“Well, to be completely transparent, I based the entire idea off of one of Oliver’s plans from last year.”   
  
As his body landed under the metaphorical bus, Oliver rolled his eyes, but, surprisingly, Felicity didn’t question the reveal. Instead, she simply snapped, “take your lumps like a man, John Thomas Diggle!”  
  
“Hey, how do you know my middle name?”  
  
Felicity pertly announced, “I know everything,” complete with rolled back shoulders and a nose tilted dangerously high in the air. Her posture didn’t just read confrontation; it reeked of conceit.   
  
Whether he found her confidence a turn on or not; whether he appreciated someone else playing the fool that Felicity Smoak did not suffer, they were getting nowhere, and Oliver was sick and tired of their lack of progress. So, he picked his poison, and he defended his friend’s motivation if not his actual plan, though, in all honesty, it had been months, and Oliver hadn’t come up with anything better himself. “We have to do something, Felicity.”  
  
“Not that,” she declared unequivocally. “Never that.”   
  
She didn’t need to say anymore for Oliver to know that her biggest sticking point with Diggle’s idea was Oliver being hurt. John had suggested that they use Merlyn’s opposition to Oliver’s recovery and aid efforts in the Glades to set up the rival CEO as the Dark Archer, Oliver being attacked and shot with a black arrow while volunteering. While he certainly didn’t relish the prospect of an arrow to the back, it wouldn’t be the first time, and Oliver had survived worse.   
  
“It’s been half a year, and we’re no closer to the world knowing the truth about Malcolm than we were the night he destroyed the Glades. If you have a better idea, Felicity, I’m all ears.”  
  
Aggression reigned in yet tenacity and aplomb still very much driving her actions, Felicity retook her seat before boasting, “I have _all_ of the better ideas.” It was Oliver’s turn to cross his arms over his chest in challenge, his stance practically daring Felicity to prove her bravado. He should have known better. “Well, first of all, no one’s breaking into the SCPD. Why steal when you can borrow?”  
  
“We need the Dark Archer’s exact arrow, Felicity.”  
  
“And I imagine having more than one so you could practice and, oh, I don’t know, make sure that you _don’t_ actually kill my future husband would be helpful,” she responded to Digg’s objection. “I’ll log in, access the information I need - even the SCPD will have photos of their evidence even if they don’t know what to actually do with it, locate the manufacturer, and then place an order for one unit of the Dark Archer special, coming right up.”  
  
“What if Malcolm makes his own arrows,” Oliver questioned.  
  
“We’ll still need their exact specifications either way.” Before Oliver could voice another concern, Felicity placed her elbows on her work station and leaned closer to him, lowering her voice. “Is _that_ a thing - archers fabricating their own arrows? Do _you_ make your own arrows?” At his nod, she pushed further. “Like… with the apron, and the gloves, and the goggles?” Oliver smirked because of course she would somehow know the safety gear of metalworking. Before he could truly appreciate Felicity’s broad spectrum of knowledge, she was whispering, “we’ll be revisiting this later,” the meaning behind her promise _abundantly_ clear and any of his previous thoughts consequently becoming opaque.   
  
“Is that it,” Digg queried, breaking into their moment.  
  
“Of course not,” Felicity dismissed. “We’ll need a replica of the Dark Archer’s suit.”  
  
“And where are we going to get that,” John wanted to know. He wasn’t being patronizing, however; he was just curious. “Because, the last time I checked, not even Amazon sold those.”  
  
Felicity shrugged. And then she did what she believed to be a wink but was actually just a crooked, uneven blink. “I know a guy.”  
  
“Who makes costumes for supervillains?”  
  
“Sometimes. It just depends upon the character. This particular costume will require a little more fabric and coverage than my guy is used to, but he’s a pro. Drag queens are very particular about their stage looks, you know.” Before Digg could react to this revelation, Felicity was turning to Oliver. “I’ll need to work with you to get a detailed description of Malcolm’s suit. It doesn’t have to be perfect, because CCTV footage isn’t exactly ultra hi-def, but, still, the closer the better. John’s obviously more… substantial than Malcolm, but black is slimming.”  
  
Diggle snorted in protest but he offered no verbal arguments. Oliver, on the other hand, sought further clarification. “If I’m shot with one of the Dark Archer’s arrows, why would Digg need to wear Malcolm’s suit? We certainly don’t want him to be seen.”  
  
“He _has_ to be seen,” Felicity contended. “A black arrow does nothing but prove that the Dark Archer does not want to volunteer at your QC funded soup kitchens.”  
  
“Except Malcolm has been very vocal in his opposition to rebuilding the Glades.”  
  
“Yeah… him and every other privileged, pompous white dude who supports gentrification. If that’s all it took to make someone a mass murdering wackadoodle, you’d have an entire notebook filled with Dark Archers.”  
  
“She has a point, man,” Diggle spoke up, agreeing with Felicity.   
  
Oliver knew that she was right, but he still didn’t understand how a replica costume would implicate Merlyn.   
  
“No, I have _all_ of the points, Digg,” she teased. As if sensing Oliver’s confusion and fraying patience, Felicity took pity on him and spelled everything out clearly and concisely. “This all goes down on one of our QC company-wide service days. That way, it won’t be suspicious when Diggle isn’t with us.” If Oliver and Felicity volunteered on the weekends, then Digg often accompanied them. He was busy during the week as he supervised the rebuilding of Verdant, leaving Oliver’s protection during office hours to the Queen Consolidated security team. “We’ll have to make sure it’s some kind of outdoor project, so maybe we can finally tackle some of the recreation sites you’ve been wanting to restore.”  
  
With no protests, Felicity continued, “after John _grazes_ you with one of the Dark Archer’s arrows, he’ll quickly yet carefully flee the scene, following a meticulously plotted, by yours truly, escape route. I’ll make sure that he’s caught on camera but from a distance. Then, there will be coverage of him going into one of the many properties Malcolm has been purchasing around the Glades - one that has an exit hidden from cameras but where there’s footage of Malcolm coming and going from the building. It won’t be enough for the SCPD to press charges, especially not with Detective Lance running interference on his daughter’s baby-daddy-daddy-in-law’s behalf, but it _will_ be enough to cause suspicion. Plus, if nothing else… and this is nothing to sneeze at, your mother will be _furious_ ,” Felicity told him. Though she said nothing that he didn’t already know - after all, it didn’t matter how mad he made her, Moira Queen would not tolerate anyone else going after her son, Oliver was surprised to realize that, until Felicity mentioned it, he hadn’t considered his mom’s reaction. “If that’s not enough to rock the H.M.S. Merl-een, then they truly are the unsinkable ship. And by ship I mean boat, not OTP. Ew.”  
  
“Is that it,” Oliver wondered. “Do you have any other suggestions? Modifications?”  
  
Leaning back in her chair to gaze up at him completely, Felicity said, “I really don’t see why you actually need to be hurt. Why can’t it be an _attempted_ shooting? Arrowing? But the Dark Archer misses?”  
  
“Because Malcolm doesn’t miss,” Oliver answered simply. What he didn’t reveal to Felicity was the fact that Diggle’s archery skills were nowhere near polished enough for that kind of intentional imprecision.   
  
“Plus,” John offered thoughtfully, “if we want the SCPD to take this seriously, the city’s leading employer is going to need to bleed a little bit.” It was an unpleasant truth about the state of Starling’s police department but accurate nonetheless.  
  
“Little being the operative word in that sentence, John Diggle. If Oliver gets anything worse than a scratch, I’m coming for you. And I fight like a girl: under the belt.” Her put upon humor masking her actual fear, Felicity clarified, “which means I’ll target your wallet.”  
  
Both Oliver and Digg ignored her threat, because his wound would certainly be more than just a scratch, and there was nothing they could say to make Felicity feel better about the prospect of the man she loved being purposefully injured. So, instead, he asked for final confirmation of their plan. “So, then, we’re all in agreement?” John nodded, and Felicity didn’t do or say anything… which was, quite frankly, a better response than Oliver had been hoping for, so he moved on. “Your idea of setting this on the next QC service day should work well, Felicity. It’ll give us enough time to get everything in place. Plus, there’s something I need to do before this all goes down.”  
  
“And what’s that,” Felicity wanted to know.  
  
Without actually answering her, Oliver moved around the edge of her desk to lean over and place a tender, playful kiss on the tip of her nose. “You’ll know soon enough,” was all he told her before walking off again, the sound of her huffing yet playful annoyance following him.   
  
Somewhere between ‘Felicity Smoak? Hi, I’m Oliver Queen’ and ‘She’s my fianceé,’ everything had changed. With what Oliver had in mind, it would be the last time he fought to die or even to just survive. Now, he would fight to live. 

<\---

There were two kinds of shivering.  
  
The ‘brr, it’s cold in here; there must be an arctic blast in the atmosphere’ kind was common. Felicity was well versed in this type of shivering. After living in Cambridge with frequent nor’easters and finicky dorm room radiators, many a night during her college days was spent shivering undercovers and clutching warm mugs of coffee. Goosebumps accompanied this kind of shivering as well.   
  
But the second kind, the type that was less common? That type of shivering couldn’t be stopped by adding more layers and drinking hot chocolate. And goosebumps, if they were there, were too insignificant to notice. No, this kind of shivering came from within, shaking one’s body from their very core and then expanding outward. It _hurt_ , and it was debilitating, and it didn’t matter how much Felicity tried to focus her attention in order to reign in the convulsions, because it was like she no longer had control over her own body.   
  
Standing there in that hospital hallway, she just… shattered. Over and over and over again.  
  
Blood dripped.  
  
Head bowed, she stared at the saturated sweater, once green now brown with the wet rust of Oliver’s life force, that she held cradled in her arms. It was the sweater off her own back, leaving Felicity in just her bralette and the rain coat she had shrugged off earlier in her haste to help Oliver. Someone must have draped it over her red with blood, and translucent blue with cold, and brown with mud shoulders, but she had stopped seeing faces and registering kindness the second Oliver stood up and turned around to look at her only for his body to spin away again from the force of the black arrow which entered through the left side of his chest. And then stayed there.  
  
Some of the blood trickled through her fingers, following their stained lines only to rain down onto the floor. Other drops first splashed onto Felicity’s once pink, and black, and mint boots before trailing their way into the ever growing puddle at her feet. And yet still others fell from her cheeks and her chin, tears blurred pink and then disappearing into crimson. Time was suddenly a foreign construct, too difficult for Felicity to recognize and too frightening for her to confront. So, instead, she counted her vigil outside of Oliver’s room not by seconds or minutes but by every bead, every splash. The faster the blood pooled, the harder Felicity held onto her sweater, because, by allowing Oliver’s blood to escape her grasp, it felt like she was letting him slip away from her as well.  
  
“You!” The accusation was guttural and hard from fear and blame, though just who exactly the condemnation was directed towards was vague. “You caused this! This is all your fault!”  
  
Felicity didn’t care what Moira thought of her or what she said. After all, she didn’t need the older woman’s recrimination to feel guilty. No, she was quite capable of that all on her own. “You’re right,” she whispered. Rasped. Her hushed tone had nothing to do with not wanting to be heard and everything to do with a damaged ability to speak. The day cold and her screams for help desperate in volume and frequency, Felicity’s throat was raw and dry. It didn’t matter how softly she spoke, however. With those two words, she had captured Moira’s undivided attention.   
  
Still, though, she didn’t look up. Still, though, she didn’t blink, her eyes burning as she stared into the watery, vermillion, abstract haze before her. “I should have ended this a long time ago.” It was only supposed to be a scratch. That’s what they had all agreed to. What she had agreed to. And, yet, here they were, Felicity standing emotionally alone and physically separate as the man she loved fought for his life. But that’s not why she felt guilty. “But I allowed myself to be distracted, to hope that, while we helped the survivors of the earthquakes recover, the justice system in this corrupt city would actually do its job and prosecute the monster who tried to murder an entire community. I was a fool.”  
  
While Moira’s tone was no warmer than before, it did suddenly contain a note of anxious curiosity. “What exactly are you saying, Miss Smoak?”  
  
Finally, she lifted her gaze to glare resolutely at the older woman across from her. “I’m saying that he will not get away with this. Not this time. Not again.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
Maybe Digg had technically fired the shot which now had Oliver fighting for his life, but, as far as Felicity was concerned, it was Malcolm Merlyn who nocked that arrow, who pulled back that bow string, who would be to blame if… if Oliver wasn’t alright. “The Dark Archer.” While her words said one thing - a truth yet not _the_ truth, Felicity watched as Moira heard what went unsaid.   
  
“The Dark Archer shot my son?”  
  
If Moira had needed convincing, Felicity would have listed off all of the details she herself had planned in order to frame Malcolm’s masked persona, but the Queen matriarch wasn’t asking for clarification. Instead, she sought confirmation. So, keeping her response simple, Felicity said, “yes,” while yet another whole body shiver ripped through her. Deciding to twist the knife a little deeper - after all, if Felicity had to go through this hell, then she was going to drag Moira right along with her, she added, “since you want to be mayor, you can make this - stopping the Dark Archer and preventing him from ever hurting anyone else again - your first and, if it was my child bleeding out in a hospital room, it would also be my only priority.”  
  
Skidding around a corner, an out of breath and flushed Thea joined them in the emotionally crowded hallway. “Is she here yet? Did I miss anything?” But the teenager’s questions went ignored as Moira and Felicity stared each other down, neither willing to concede. Just as they had both privately acknowledged the Dark Archer’s identity moments before, Felicity watched as Moira’s own culpability in the attack on Oliver washed over the older woman’s features. Unlike Moira, Felicity did not voice her accusations, but Oliver’s mother suffered under the burden of them nonetheless. And they were doubly oppressive and wearying, because, once more, they went unspoken and unacknowledged by the guilty party. Sounding exasperated, Thea interrupted once again, demanding, “where’s Laurel?”  
  
“I’m right here,” the woman in question answered for herself. When Moira broke her gaze away to look towards the latest arrival, Felicity went back to staring at the blood puddle between her feet, at nothing and everything… at the same time, while, once more, trembling violently. “And you’re perfectly fine,” Laurel continued, obviously addressing Thea. “So, why exactly am I here?”  
  
“Ollie’s been shot,” the teen responded. “I thought… you should be here. Ollie would want you here. You’re family.”  
  
Laurel sighed. “Thea, I’m eight months pregnant with his dead best friend’s baby.” She looked six months pregnant, max. Under any other circumstances, under normal circumstances, Felicity would have found herself worried about the unborn child. Even if she disliked Laurel and resented Tommy for the hurt he caused Oliver before his death, their child should not carry the sins of its parents. But there was nothing normal about standing in a hospital, vulnerable and wearing the blood of the man she loved, as she waited to find out if….  
  
While she waited.   
  
“I’m glad that you think of me as family, because I feel the same about you.” At this, Felicity whipped her head up and around to observe Laurel and Thea as they stood directly in front of one another, their hands joined between them, confronting an equally worried Moira looking on the same sight with trepidation. Even after Laurel continued, telling Thea, “but Ollie and I are never going to happen, not again,” Moira didn’t relax. “There are just too many bad things between us.”   
  
Not to mention the fact that _Oliver_ was _happening_ with someone else. With Felicity. But, apparently, that wasn’t one of Laurel’s many reasons why Thea’s misguided and in poor taste, timing-wise, matchmaking skills were going to fail.   
  
“I’m sorry that he was hurt,” Laurel pressed on, not allowing Thea to have her say or protest. “Despite… well, everything, I never wanted this to happen to him. In fact, I warned Ollie that he should stop interfering, that he should leave the Glades alone and allow the people there to get what they deserve. First, they killed Rebecca, and, now, they’ve killed...”  
  
“Mrs. Queen?” A nurse stepped out of Oliver’s hospital room, her quiet yet competent voice mercifully interrupting what was quickly turning into a disgusting and delusional rant from Laurel and, more importantly, ending the purgatory that was Felicity’s vigil.   
  
Felicity looked up, but it was Moira who stepped forward, who prompted, “yes?”  
  
“Actually, I, uh, meant the other Mrs. Queen,” the RN corrected Felicity’s mother-in-law.  
  
And that’s exactly who Moira was… even if she had been unaware of that fact until that very moment.   
  
Meeting first Moira’s, then Thea’s, and lastly Laurel’s flabbergasted expressions, Felicity simply stated, “Oliver and I were married this week.” As she walked away from the other three women and towards the nurse and hospital room waiting for her, Felicity allowed herself a quick glance at the comforting sight that was her engagement ring and wedding band stacked together on her left ring finger.   
  
“The doctor is ready to talk to you now, and there are some scrubs for you to change into.”  
  
“And my husband?”  
  
“He’s going to be just fine,” the nurse promised.  
  
And, just like that, Felicity Queen took a deep breath, and her shivering stopped.  
  
As she entered Oliver’s hospital room, as she moved once more towards her future and the man she had promised to share that future with, Felicity realized that, when Moira confronted her just moments before, it would be the last time anyone ever called her by her maiden name. 

<\---

It had been two weeks since Oliver had last worn his leathers and hood, and it shocked him how little he had missed that aspect of his life. After the _Dark Archer_ shot him, his inactivity wasn’t just at Felicity’s insistence; Oliver had needed the rest, the time to recuperate. The shot had been much more serious than they had planned, and the last thing anyone needed was Oliver returning to the streets too soon and reopening the wound. Not only would that raise questions with his doctors - and, yes, because of the staged, public nature of the attack, he had to rely upon actual doctors and not just Digg to stitch him back up, but it would also delay the next step in taking down Malcolm… whatever that next step may be.  
  
While Oliver had been at home, spending fourteen glorious evenings in with his wife - cooking and having dinner together, lounging on the couch while watching TV, allowing Felicity to take care of him, and… _other activities_ more in line with the fact that they were newlyweds, serious chest wound or not, Digg had been donning Oliver’s gear and patrolling the streets. With no particular target, Diggle’s actions were more about being seen rather than actually accomplishing anything. If his presence prevented a crime or he was able to apprehend a criminal or two during those patrols, then great. But the citizens of the Glades needed to see that the Hood (aka the Arrow… according to Felicity and her efforts to rebrand him) still cared, that he was still watching out for them, and, more importantly, the city of Starling, notably the SCPD, needed to see the vigilante at work when Oliver Queen was obviously sidelined.   
  
He wasn’t completely healed yet, and Felicity had been adamant that he ‘speak loudly and, under only emergency circumstances, wield any sized stick,’ but Diggle deserved a night off. Plus, Oliver didn’t want to get too comfortable in his life away from his mission, because then it would only be that much harder to go back to it once he was fully recuperated. Enjoying his downtime, however, gave Oliver hope for the future. Someday, when he and Felicity were ready and the city didn’t need him any longer, he now knew that he would be able to happily walk away from his vigilante persona… which meant kids, and family vacations, and maybe they’d even move away from….  
  
Doubling him over, Oliver’s entire midsection was met with the solid, powerful assault of a bo staff. Before he could even lift his bow to counter a second attack, his assailant brought the weapon down at an angle against the back of his knees. The force of the hit, his own momentum, and perhaps even a natural sense of self-preservation had him, first, kneeling, and then rolling out of the way, putting his back to the alley wall and facing his attacker. What Oliver found was perhaps the last thing he expected. It was a woman dressed all in black and wearing a long, blonde wig… exactly like Malcolm had described the imposter Huntress.   
  
Despite not saying anything, Oliver must have grunted his discomfort, or perhaps Felicity’s comms were powerful enough to pick up on the sounds of the skirmish themselves, because the next thing he knew, his wife was worriedly asking for a status update. Oliver hated to ignore her, but he hated the idea of his assailant finding out about his partner even more. So, instead of reassuring Felicity that he was alright, Oliver raised his bow, nocked an arrow, and demanded to know, “who the hell are you?”  
  
All he got in response was a livid, accusing, “how could you?”  
  
Standing, though he didn’t release his grip on his bow, Oliver challenged, “you’re the one who attacked me!”  
  
Although he was wearing a voice modulator, the woman across from him wasn’t, and her voice, while not exactly familiar, wasn’t entirely foreign either. Recognition whispered against the back of his mind. “It’s the least that you deserved!”  
  
Growing impatient, he barked, “either stop talking in riddles, or I’m walking away right now… even if I have to put an arrow in you to do so.”  
  
“Why am I not surprised?” The question was rhetorical, but Oliver wouldn’t have known how to respond even if it wasn’t. “After all, walking - no, _running_ away from your problems has always been your MO, Ollie.”  
  
It was the nickname which made everything click. “Sara?!”  
  
Over the comms, Oliver heard Felicity say, “Sara’s a pretty common name. What are the odds that you share a past with _two_ of them?”  
  
While he didn’t respond, the answer, unfortunately, wasn’t in their favor.  
  
Plus, before he could wrap his mind around the realization that not only was Sara Lance alive but she was also, apparently, a vigilante herself _and_ coming after him, the masked blonde was yelling, “how could you?!,” once again.  
  
He couldn’t answer her. He didn’t even know what she was really asking. All he could do was state, “I saw you drown. Twice.” In fact, if he closed his eyes, Oliver could watch Sara die all over again. That moment was more clear for him than any he had shared with her in life.   
  
“And, yet, you still did nothing to help Laurel.”  
  
“I kept her safe and protected her multiple times, Sara,” Oliver defended himself.  
  
“Yeah… when it was convenient or because she was connected to one of your targets.”  
  
“We weren’t together. All I did was hurt her, because seeing me was a constant reminder that she’d never see _you_ again. Hell, we’re not even friends. She was with Tommy, and I was already with my wife then.”  
  
“That’s right. _Your_ wife. _Your_ sister. _Your_ mom. Not a hair on their heads touched. But _my_ sister? Laurel is spiralling, Ollie - first with pills and booze and now she’s working for Malcolm Merlyn?!”  
  
“You know, I’m really sick and tired of everyone blaming you for everything,” Felicity complained in his ear. “Let’s not forget that it takes two to… _yacht_.”  
  
It was her constant, unwavering support and defense of him that allowed Oliver to relax, his tension decompressing. Sighing, he let his bow fall to his side. He understood Sara’s concern, but he didn’t know if he could trust her, and, frankly, he didn’t know what she wanted from him. “He’s the grandfather of her unborn baby. There’s nothing I can do about that.”  
  
“Not that you would anyway,” Sara spat at him. “But then again,” she added, melting into the shadows from which she had shockingly emerged just moments before, her tone quieter yet no less full of recrimination, though who it was directed at, Oliver or herself, was debatable. Maybe she was judging and finding them both wanting. “Laurel’s not _your_ family, is she, Ollie?”  
  
And, just like that, as suddenly as she had appeared, Sara was gone.  
  
For several moments, Oliver just stood there… in shock. It wasn’t just that Sara Lance was alive. After all, Oliver himself had _miraculously_ returned from the dead. It was also how she revealed herself and, more importantly, the fact that she had obviously been back for quite some time and had yet to tell anyone, particularly her family.   
  
A gentle, soothing voice told him, “come home, Arrow.”  
  
And who was Oliver to argue with his wife? Without question, he knew that he was finished patrolling for the night. “On my way,” he told Felicity before disconnecting their comms.   
  
Deciding on the quickest street route back to the old steel foundry, he crossed the Glades on foot while staying on the ground. By not talking to Felicity over the comms, he had tested her patience and pushed her worry as far as he could that night, so the few minutes he could shave off of his return time by traveling via rooftops wasn’t worth it. Oliver was already concerned that Sara’s first hit might have knocked out a stitch or two, so he certainly didn’t need to be leaping over alleyways at the height of several stories. Plus, the few extra minutes to himself would grant Oliver a chance to _start_ wrapping his mind around the fact that there was one less death on his conscience. While he wanted to talk to Felicity about Sara being alive, he felt that was a conversation they deserved to have face-to-face, and, considering the fact that she had told him to come in, Oliver knew that they were on the same page.   
  
Like always.  
  
Oliver wasn’t sure in what emotional state he expected to find his wife once he pounded down the old metal stairs and into the basement, but it certainly wasn’t pensive and thoughtful. Felicity was not prone to jealousy, and Oliver prided himself on not giving her a reason to be, but she certainly would have been justified if she had been at least a little uncomfortable with the revelation that the sister he cheated on his long term ex-girlfriend with was alive, and well, and running around the Glades in a leather bustier and mask. It was disconcerting… to say the least.  
  
But Felicity wasn’t. At all. As soon as she saw him, she stood from her chair, the coat she had been using as a blanket falling from her lap, forgotten, and onto the floor, and crossed the room to greet him at the bottom of the stairs. “I’d ask if you were okay but… how?! Could you be, that is. Obviously, I know _how_ to ask you how you’re feeling.”  
  
Setting his bow aside on the nearest available, flat surface, Oliver offered her a gentle, genuine smile. A patented Felicity _Queen_ babble was exactly what he needed at that moment, though it didn’t stem from nerves but, instead, distraction… which was interesting. Just to make sure there was no misunderstanding between them, he promised her, “I had no idea, Felicity.”  
  
“I know that,” she quickly and easily dismissed. Her instinctual belief in him made the smile stay for just that much longer. Lifting his hands to her shoulders, Oliver found himself running his gloved hands up and down her arms, the sheer fabric of her dress sleeves absolutely no match for the softness of her skin. However, the basement was cold enough already without Felicity’s delicate skin being exposed to the chill damp. It was yet another reminder that, if they were going to continue working out of the club’s lower level, then he should probably make it more comfortable for her. “You’d let the entire city think that you were responsible for Sara’s death, but, if you knew she was alive, you would have told me.”  
  
“Not the whole city. I think Malcolm knew she was alive. He was taunting all of us but particularly the Lances when he claimed Helena was set up by a blonde vigilante.”  
  
“Do you think they’re working together, Malcolm and Sara,” Felicity asked, tilting her head to the side as she contemplated her own question.  
  
Oliver shrugged. “Why?”  
  
“Why does Malcolm do _anything_ ,” Felicity queried rhetorically. “This is the man who grieved for his wife by running away from his son to join a kill cult for two years? He earthquaked an entire section of the city. He’s not just a few animal crackers shy of a full zoo; the cages are broken, and the cookies are cannibalizing one another.”  
  
God, he loved her so much. Leaning in to brush his lips against hers, Oliver meant for the embrace to be just a simple kiss, but Felicity pushed up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and Oliver simply couldn’t let her go for several moments after that. She was wearing flats, making her just that much smaller in his arms, and it would have taken a man much stronger than Oliver to release her without first appropriately appreciating the affection she offered him so freely. When he finally forced himself to pull away, Oliver only separated their mouths; everywhere else they were touching, he made sure that they stayed connected. “I meant Sara. She obviously holds a grudge against Merlyn, so why would she work with him?”  
  
“Misery acquaints a man, or in this case a woman, with strange bedfellows... figuratively speaking, of course. Or, at least, I sincerely hope we’re not talking literal here, because ew!” And to further support her statement, Felicity shivered in disgust. Recovering from _that_ visual faster than Oliver, she went on to add, “after all, look at Helena.”  
  
“Helena’s not the most… rational of examples, however.”  
  
“Hon, I hate to break it to you, but there’s no way Sara Lance has gone through… whatever it is she’s gone through without acquiring a few mental scars of her own. We don’t know where she’s been, what she’s been doing, who she’s been with, how she survived, or why she decided to confront you tonight of all nights. Heck, for all we know,” Felicity let go of him and fell back down to stand without his support, flat on her feet. She did this so she could toss her arms up in the air to emphasize her absolute lack of information regarding Sara. “She could be a frakking cylon.”  
  
Remembering how they had been spending their past two weeks, Oliver countered, “pretty sure she’s not a robot.”  
  
“We can’t rule it out,” Felicity persisted, making Oliver shake his head in amusement. “After all, how else do you explain her getting the drop on you?”  
  
Rolling his eyes, he finally disengaged them completely before walking away and further into the basement. “She did not get the drop on me.”  
  
“I will be the judge of that,” Felicity turned to follow him. “Strip.”  
  
Oliver was already unzipping his jacket when he told her, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Although Felicity didn’t respond, Oliver glanced over his shoulder at her and found her to be… not entirely against the idea. He could see her weighing his suggestion, though it had been said in jest. If she took it seriously, he definitely wouldn’t point out the discrepancy. The contemplative pursing of her painted mouth made Oliver recall the mood she had been in when he first returned to the foundry. “By the way, what were you thinking about when I first got back?”  
  
He hopped up to sit on the med table, automatically opening his legs so that she could settle between them. Once Felicity set to work on untaping his wound’s dressing, she answered him. “Oh, I… I had an idea.”  
  
“But you always have all the ideas, though.”  
  
“True,” she allowed. Oliver chuckled at her display of modesty. “However, this was a very particular idea.”  
  
“Care to share it with the class?”  
  
Biting her bottom lip, she met his gaze. “I do. And I will. But… can I have a few days to work everything out in my own head first? There are _a lot_ of ducks, and, if I don’t get them lined up properly, they won’t fall the right way.”  
  
He leaned forward, feeling a slight twinge in his ribs from where Sara’s bo staff made initial contact with his abdomen, and placed a playful kiss upon the tip of Felicity’s nose. “Plot away, Machiavelli.”  
  
“Ah, but I’m not a Prince,” Felicity corrected him, waving her left hand in the air so that her wedding and engagement rings were facing him. “I’m a Queen.”  
  
“You most certainly are.”  
  
They both fell quiet then, Felicity setting to work and losing herself in taking care of him and Oliver once more distracted by his thoughts - thoughts about Sara, about the reveal that she was alive and everything she had failed to reveal to him at the same time, about how Malcolm tied into her situation, and about what this latest development would mean for the people he loved and the city he protected. But, most of all, Oliver thought about the charges Sara had leveled against him, the judgement she had passed, because, despite her accusations to the contrary, Oliver knew that it wasn’t his place to take care of Laurel. That was not his burden to carry. In fact, because he was confident in just how wrong Sara was, it was the last time that Oliver would feel responsible for everyone in his life and everything bad that had ever happened to them.

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“What was Rebecca Merlyn’s maiden name?”  
  
Because of the work she was doing and the natural progression of her thought processes, the question did not seem out of place to Felicity as she voiced it, yet, when Oliver missed a tennis ball, she realized that, for anyone _not_ inside of her mind, it probably was a little… unexpected. Oh well. It was too late to preface the inquiry, and she really needed the answer. Unfortunately, Oliver didn’t seem to sense her urgency.   
  
Setting aside his bow and walking towards her from where he had been target practicing - one of his approved activities while convalescing… as long as he did it shirtless… for medical reasons, of course, Oliver asked, “why do you need that?”  
  
Digg, who was located on the opposite side of the basement, per Felicity’s instructions… for everyone’s safety - after all, she was still a little irritated that no one had told her just how bad of a shot he was with a bow, remained quiet, though, out of the corner of her eye, Felicity could see him observing Oliver’s approach and her near constant activity. Bouncing from one screen to the next, Felicity had multiple searches and projects in the works. Oliver not actually answering her just added one more to the list. Or, more accurately, tabs. Just as her husband avoided her question (probably due to the fact that he didn’t know), Felicity avoided his, though, in her defense, her lack of cooperation stemmed from the fact that her brain and fingers were already several steps ahead of him. “I hope it’s Morgan. Or Penn. Or Kennedy.”  
  
Oliver chuckled, obviously amused even if he didn’t understand her references. “What are you up to?”  
  
As soon as Felicity saw the answer on her screen, her shoulders slumped. “It’s Thomas,” she shared with the room. With a put-out tone, she added, “that was rather anticlimactic. And unsatisfactory.”   
  
“Felicity.”  
  
She could feel Oliver’s gaze drilling into the exposed skin on the back of her neck. As she temporarily closed her eyes to enjoy the pleasurable shiver, she imagined him standing behind her with his legs spread hips-width apart, his cargo pants sitting low and his arms folded together over his chest in what they both knew was a very appealing way. He could be such a preening peacock sometimes. It was just one of the many things Felicity loved about her husband. Spinning around in her chair, she opened her gaze and confronted the exact image she had pictured. The sight made her smile. Oliver returned the grin with a lift of his brows, prompting her to say, “my idea had idea babies, and, now, there’s enough of them to populate a small country. I call it ‘Utherville.’”  
  
“And Rebecca Merlyn’s a part of this?”  
  
“She’s the main star,” Felicity promptly answered. Standing up… because it felt like it would add some gravitas to her reveal, Felicity decided to assuage her husband’s curiosity without any further obliqueness. “Zombie Sara Lance was the grain of sand which led to my pearl of a plan… if I do say so myself.” Slowly walking towards Oliver, Felicity only came to a stop once she could lift her hands and rest them against his slightly sweaty chest. “One person,” she nodded her head towards him, “returning from the dead is a miracle; two? Well, that’s just a pattern. If you could come back to life, and Sara can come back to life, why can’t Rebecca Merlyn?”  
  
“I don’t understand,” Oliver confessed.  
  
After affectionately tapping the scarred and tattooed flesh that protected his heart, Felicity pivoted around on her heeled boots and took several steps away so that she could face both Oliver and Digg at the same time. If, in doing so, she reminded her husband of the zipper that ran the entire length of the back of her skirt, then so be it. Plus, Felicity had to admit… if only to herself, that she enjoyed taking a moment to further heighten her reveal. By the time she was ready to spell it out plainly for the team, there was a wide, beaming smile stretching across her face. “We’re going to gaslight Malcolm Merlyn.”  
  
From there, the plan flowed out of Felicity, her enthusiasm and excitement obvious. She explained to Oliver and Digg that, through a clueless Roy, she was hiring a discrete young woman who was capable of taking care of herself, and she was going to don a long, dark wig and go around the Glades, claiming to be Rebecca _Thomas_. She would tirelessly work for the betterment of the poor, for those people hurt the most by Malcolm’s machinations. With no way to trace her movements, Felicity had also secured Rebecca Merlyn’s old cell phone number, and she planned on using it to further haunt the Dark Archer. At the same time, she would be raiding Malcolm’s personal and business accounts, using the money to fund charities which benefited the Glades, and all of these donations would be made in Rebecca _Thomas_ ’ name.   
  
While these efforts would target Malcolm emotionally and mentally, hopefully pushing him over the edge of his own guilt (because no one went to the lengths Merlyn had gone to in order to avenge a lost loved one unless they secretly blamed themselves for the person’s demise), she also had a way to expose Malcolm as the Dark Archer… _without_ Oliver having to almost die. In her research, she had discovered that Malcolm had gotten sloppy with his purchases, mixing business and torture. He had used the same shell company, Sagittarius, to purchase his Dark Archer supplies as he had used to buy up as much property in the Glades as he could get his hands on, legally or otherwise. With a few well-placed red flags and some _anonymous_ tips to the SEC and IRS, Felicity was going to have Malcolm Merlyn, Merlyn Global, Sagittarius, and the Dark Archer all investigated in one fell swoop.   
  
“Everything is set up and ready to go on my end,” she finished, taking in and appreciating the looks of astonishment and awe on her husband’s face and the trepidation and respect on John’s. “However,” she sidled back over to Oliver, reaching out to hold his left hand in both of hers and tilting her chin up so that she could look at him from underneath her lashes. While Felicity made her request, she ran her thumbs over the warm metal of his wedding band. “I need you to do one thing for me.”  
  
“Name it. Anything,” he promised her.   
  
“Go to the Bratva and have them call in a marker on the land where Rebecca Merlyn’s old clinic once stood?”  
  
At this point, Diggle went back to cleaning his guns. While he continued to listen, he wasn’t an active participant in the conversation, and Oliver and Felicity moved back over to her desk, the former leaning against it while she sat down in her chair once more. There were still aspects of her plan that they would need to go over and details to flesh out, but, for the first time since the _Dark Archer_ shot Oliver, she was feeling optimistic. In fact, there was a sense of confidence throughout the entire basement that she had never experienced before in connection to their mission.   
  
But maybe it was more than that. Oliver had always respected her, trusted her, relied upon her, and valued her, but, as Felicity laid out her ideas to take down Malcolm Merlyn that evening, there had been a shift in their relationship. It wasn’t necessarily a change for the better, and it certainly wasn’t a bad development; it just… was. Because, after proving once and for all that, of the two of them, Felicity was the more ruthless partner in their marriage, it was the last time anyone, including Oliver, would ever underestimate Felicity Queen. 

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Their bedroom was dark when Oliver got home, both Felicity and her tablet curled up under the blankets sound asleep. Despite Oliver insisting that he had to go to the Bratva as _just_ Oliver Queen, meaning no comms and no reason for Felicity to sit all night in the foundry’s cold, wet basement, it was obvious that his wife had been monitoring his movements from home anyway. The realization sent a warm wave of contentment and peace flooding through his chest.   
  
Before even taking off his boots, Oliver retrieved Felicity’s tablet and plugged it in to charge. Just as she watched out for him, he liked to find small ways to take care of her, too, and a Felicity Queen with fully functioning tech made the world go round. Once that was done, Oliver stripped quickly yet quietly. In his haste to join Felicity in their bed, he simply let his clothes fall where they may, his usual fastidiousness forgotten in the face of his desperation to just hold his wife.  
  
It had been quite some time - months - since Oliver had been forced to acknowledge his connections to the Russian mob. Of all his relationships forged while he was away for five years, it was the Bratva which gave him the most pause. Yet, Felicity’s idea to use them in their attack on Malcolm was a good one. He just didn’t like the way the brotherhood made him feel, and Oliver was glad to be home. While there was still a part of him that wanted to shower off the shame of his Captain status, Oliver knew that Felicity didn’t judge him. She never had. Just as easily as she had accepted the vigilante into her life… even when that’s all he was willing to give her, his wife also accepted - and loved - every part of Oliver the man. Surprisingly, unlike his ties to the mob, Oliver felt no compunction over why he had suddenly reconnected with Alexi Leonov and the Starling City chapter of the Bratva.   
  
Sliding underneath the silk sheets he had gifted Felicity with and that she still insisted upon using, Oliver reached for his wife, wanting to wrap himself completely around her as he joined her in sleep. Just as surely as those sheets in the same exact shade of green as his leathers and hood had been the vigilante’s way of claiming Felicity as his own, there was now a ring on Felicity’s hand - two, actually - which claimed her as Oliver Queen’s, yet Felicity always still wore his color on her nails, too, because she claimed that she liked being surrounded by both aspects of him at all times.   
  
However, contrary to their usual sleeping attire, Oliver didn’t just encounter the silk of their sheets and the silkiness of Felicity’s completely bare skin. He also felt satin and cotton as well - both still soft but nothing was as soothing and comforting against his scarred flesh than the equally as unblemished flesh of his wife’s supple body. She might have been sleeping, but that didn’t stop Oliver from grumbling, “pajamas?”  
  
“The fire escape?,” Felicity mumbled in return. So maybe she wasn’t as oblivious in her exhaustion as he had thought. To soften the complaint, she burrowed backwards into his embrace just that much more, just that much tighter. While she might have been making herself comfortable in his arms, Oliver was suddenly feeling anything but tired or ready to go to sleep.   
  
“I wanted to prove I still have it.” There was a time when Oliver had only used Felicity’s fire escape to get in and out of her apartment. While he was more grateful every single day that he had invited her into each and every aspect of his life, he did find that he sometimes missed the solitary nature of their relationship from before the earthquakes. Back then, Oliver didn’t have to share Felicity with anyone. She was his own private, personal oasis - salvation in the middle of the morally corrupt hellscape of their city. Using the fire escape that night was Oliver’s way of remembering how far they had come together… and of convincing Felicity that he was completely healed from the _Dark Archer_ ’s shot.  
  
“And I wanted to make sure that I didn’t lose anything… to frostbite. It’s late November, Oliver. If you’re not going to be home to keep me warm, then I’ll find some pajamas to do it for you.”  
  
“Temporarily,” he bargained, already starting the process of removing her clothes. As Oliver gently pulled her robe free of her arms and out from underneath her body, Felicity silently communicated her agreement by kicking off her slippers. They fell to the floor with the only double-tap he ever wanted touching his wife’s life. Her camisole came off next, Felicity obligingly lifting her arms out from underneath the covers and over her head. At that point, all that stood between Oliver and his wife was a thin, loose, flimsy pair of pajama pants.  
  
Wrapping his hands around the span of her waist, Oliver turned Felicity over onto her back while hovering above her. This he did over the covers, but, to finish stripping her bare, he slipped his hands beneath the blankets. The satin pants flowed over and off of her body easily, Felicity doing the final honors of kicking them off of the bed and onto the floor once she was naked. Yet, despite having her exactly how he wanted her, Oliver didn’t join his wife underneath the duvet and sheets right away. Instead, he wedged himself between her legs and then he just stayed there, separated by the blankets they shared. It was erotic, because they both knew it was momentary, and the denial in the short delay just made them crave the other’s touch that much more.   
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
They both knew Felicity wasn’t asking about his physical comfort.  
  
“I’m more than okay.” And he wasn’t lying or, worse, deluding himself into thinking that he was alright. The expressed feeling was genuine. Oliver had walked into a Bratva stronghold that night with a forged IOU in Tommy’s hand, the marker for the piece of land in the Glades where Rebecca Merlyn’s free clinic had once stood, and he had walked out with the promise that the Russians would be calling in that chip. It had taken convincing - first, Oliver needing to explain to them why such a marker would be worth more to Malcolm Merlyn than anything else in the world, and then that, even if Malcolm denied the legitimacy of the IOU, Alexi and his men had the perfect bargaining chip: Merlyn’s legacy. If Merlyn didn’t make right his son’s debt to the Bratva, then the Bratva would go after Tommy’s unborn child and Malcolm’s heir. No property? No grandson or granddaughter. “I just used my dead best friend’s completely innocent and unborn baby to secure a deal with the Russian mob, tarnishing Tommy and the memory of our friendship in order to further our plans to take down his father, and all I can think about is, when all of this is over, I want us to have a serious talk about children. As in having them. Together.”  
  
“Oh, Oliver,” Felicity sighed, removing her arms from beneath the blankets once more so that she could lift them to cup his face. “You’re right. We do need to talk about our future and children, because, if you think babies are made by you staying outside of the covers while I stay under them, then you, husband of mine, have a steep learning curve ahead of you.”  
  
Joyously, Oliver laughed at his wife’s teasing. While she attempted to push the duvet and sheets away from her torso and legs, Oliver lifted the bottom of them briefly in order to dive underneath. Somehow, they met in the middle, their upper bodies exposed to the night air, while their lower halves were blanketed by both each other and the bedding. As Oliver lowered himself down in order to take Felicity’s mouth with his own, it was the last time he would fear being a father. 

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“What the hell happened?!”  
  
Though Oliver dropped to his knees beside her and cupped her face, it wasn’t Felicity he was yelling at, demanding answers from but Roy - Roy who was just as traumatized if not more so and certainly in more pain than Felicity. Poor Roy. Despite the crossbow bolt in his knee and his still unvoiced yet no longer unconfirmed suspicions regarding Oliver’s… hobbies, Roy managed to hold it together in order to talk to Oliver. Well, sort of.  
  
“I just wanted to ask about the cocktail weenies.”  
  
“Roy,” Oliver snapped, glaring at the younger man. Once Roy returned the stare, Oliver ordered, “focus, please. And breathe.” Felicity knew that Oliver could triage Roy’s wound for him, but, given the public nature of the attack, he would need to be treated at the hospital.   
  
While it was yet something else that went unsaid between them, they all knew that one of the reasons Oliver approached Roy to serve as their assistant was the idea that, if Oliver himself couldn’t be there, Roy at least wasn’t completely incompetent at defending himself and, more importantly, at defending Felicity. However, despite this, there was no way Roy could have known that she needed defending. No one, not even Oliver, had seen this attack coming.   
  
Without thinking, Felicity lifted a hand to cup Oliver’s jaw - both in an effort to sooth him and also to recapture his attention, but, as soon as she moved, the gunshot graze to her shoulder screamed in protest, causing Felicity to call out in discomfort. Suddenly, all of Oliver’s attention was on her, and the last thing on Felicity’s mind was shielding Roy. Instead, she had an anxious, frightened husband to reassure. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” But her words were too little and came too late. Oliver was already gently lifting her upper body up off of the floor, and, as soon as he did, he realized that not all of the blood was Roy’s.   
  
Looking at her shoulder, he exclaimed, “she shot you?!”   
  
But it was Roy who answered as Oliver quickly removed his tux jacket, balled it up, and placed it beneath her open and seeping wound as he carefully laid her back down. “She saved my life. When I came in with last minute questions about the holiday party, Helena just started firing. Felicity pushed me out of the way and shielded me until that wackjob ran out of bullets.”  
  
“Well, that explains the glass walls,” Oliver remarked flatly. More accurately, it explained the now _lack_ of glass walls. “How did you end up with an arrow in your leg?”  
  
“She pulled out a crossbow after she threw her guns aside. When I apologized for thinking her insane when she was actually just stupid, she took offense.”  
  
Roy should have kept his mouth shut, and the dark glower that crossed Oliver’s face was proof that her husband shared Felicity’s opinion on their assistant’s lack of self-preservation instincts. More importantly, by angering Helena even more, he put others’ lives at risk, too. They would have to work on that with him in the future. And now, thanks to Helena, there would definitely be a future.   
  
“And then she just left,” Oliver questioned, obviously believing that there was more to Helena’s confrontation. And he would be right in that belief. “She came in, shot Felicity, shot you, destroyed the CEO office, and that was it? How did she get in here in the first place?”  
  
“She stole an elf costume,” Felicity explained. She spoke slowly so as to better breathe through her pain. “We’ll want to check with the caterers to make sure that all of their staff members are accounted for. Hopefully, she didn’t kill a waiter to get their costume.” As Oliver and Felicity’s assistant, Roy had been in charge of organizing the QC holiday party - something he found mind boggling yet seemed to take pride in nonetheless. Roy’s idea of planning might have just been selecting the most expensive options, but that seemed to fit well with QC’s brand and reputation. “When she walked into the office, I just thought she had taken a wrong turn.” The party was being held in the executive conference room and up on the roof. “Too bad inbred, cannibalistic hillbillies probably would have been a safer option.”  
  
Leaning down to rest his forehead against hers, Oliver whispered for only Felicity to hear, “we are never getting ready for an event separately again.” She just snorted in response, rolling her eyes, because, if they ever wanted to attend an event again, they had to get ready separately. Oliver had a wonderful, bad habit of studying her while she dressed so as to better and more efficiently undress her before they had a chance to leave their apartment. His aptitude for seducing her only seemed to improve as her outfits became fancier. He was particularly skilled when she was wearing something he had purchased for her, and she had on the diamond earrings and bracelet he had given her for Hanukkah that night.   
  
“But what did she want? Was she here for me, or were you her target all along?”  
  
She would have shrugged but knew that the movement would send shards of fire shooting down her arm and into her chest and neck. Because Felicity had no idea what motivated Helena to sneak into Queen Consolidated on the night of the annual company holiday party and put a bullet in her and a crossbolt in Roy, and, frankly, she was glad that she didn’t understand the inner workings of that woman’s mind. “Whatever her plan might have been, all I know is that she left unsatisfied. She’s still obviously hellbent on killing her father. Malcolm promised her that he’d find the location of Frank Bertinelli’s safehouse, but Helena ranted that he’s too distracted - apparently, Laurel had a son, so Merlyn has his heir - to be of any use to her. Maybe she wanted to convince you or threaten you into helping her go after her father?”  
  
Guarding her words carefully, because, despite the fact that the party attendees seemed to be distracted by Diggle who was seeing that they were taken care of and their injuries treated until the cops and paramedics arrived, Felicity didn’t want to accidentally achieve one of Helena’s goals for her. “When she realized that you weren’t here and that I wasn’t going to help her, she started ranting about how she would reveal your so-called secret to the entire company. I reminded her of the fact that you wouldn’t even have dinner with her, so why would you ever confide your secrets in her? By the way,” Felicity winced, recalling the ugly, twisted ire which had suffused Helena’s face when she mocked the other woman’s failed attempts to date Oliver, “I’m pretty sure she’s still pissed about that. You know, hell hath no fury like a woman you’re just not that into.”  
  
“How did you get her to leave,” Oliver wanted to know. “Did you call the police?”  
  
“In her distraction, I’m sure _somebody_ called the police,” Roy informed him. “But it wasn’t me. I couldn’t.”  
  
“She shot Roy’s tablet,” Felicity complained in outrage. It was one thing to go after her or even Roy, but innocent tech?! And, yes, okay. Felicity could admit that she might be going a little loopy due to the whole bullet in her shoulder, loss of blood, almost died… thing she was currently dealing with.   
  
“Felicity stabbed Helena with her shoe.”  
  
Oliver turned his confused yet proud gaze towards her. “In the _scuffle_ , I might have… fallen out of my stilettos.” Carrie Bradshaw would be so ashamed of her. “But they came in handy when I was looking for a weapon.” In ridiculing Helena’s failed attempts to seduce Oliver into understanding and sympathizing with her vendetta, Felicity had incurred the brunette’s wrath to the point where she had picked up one of her guns and advanced with purpose towards where Felicity had been prone on the floor. Before Helena could pistol whip her or, worse, reload the semi-automatic, Felicity had picked up one of her shoes and driven the heel into the unsuspecting woman’s ankle, aiming for her Achilles tendon. While she wasn’t sure if her aim had been true, it was good enough to make Helena drop her gun. Then, when Helena was distracted by her agony, Felicity had located her purse and swung it like a hammer throw. She went for the knees, made Helena fall forwards, and the madwoman had been forced to catch herself with the sensitive flesh of her palms, cutting them on the shards of glass which blanketed the marble floor. “I smacked her with my purse, too. It broke,” she finished on a mumble, still annoyed that Helena had wrecked such havoc. Without having to look, she knew that her velvet, off the shoulder, tulip hemmed gown was probably ruined, too.  
  
The police arrived then, preventing them from saying anything else. Oliver immediately moved, standing and then bending over at the knees to pick Felicity up, cradling her in his arms. He was careful of her shoulder but, without needing words, adamant that she not walk. Realistically, with her shoes now evidence and the walls a shattered carpet, it wouldn’t have been safe for her to move on her own volition anyway, but Oliver wanting to carry her was equally about his need to protect and take care of her. Felicity didn’t mind. In fact, there was no place she’d rather be.   
  
“We’ll talk more later,” Oliver told Roy. And he wasn’t just referring to further discussion of the night’s events.   
  
As Oliver bulldozed his and, by extension, her way through the cops and EMTs, using both his privilege and his past to put off Felicity giving her statement to the cops and to avoid a trip for her to the emergency room, insisting that, if anyone was going to stitch up his wife, it would be him, Felicity found herself zoning out of the conversations. Oliver had everyone well in hand, and she had more pressing matters of concern, mainly those of her own actions that night. While she was grateful that what equated to one notch above hair pulling worked to fight off Helena, such desperate tactics wouldn’t always be enough. Felicity, by no means, wanted to wear a mask and join her husband out in the field… well, except for the occasional date night mission. But she also didn’t want to be a liability either. She would need to start training in self defense, because she was determined that, that night, would be the last time anyone saw Felicity Smoak as a victim. 

<\---

Oliver was missing something. Something important.   
  
There was a lot he didn’t know about Sara Lance and how she had gone from seemingly dying before his eyes to threatening to kill him if he hurt any woman but, in this particular case, specifically Helena Bertinelli.   
  
Despite being held hostage and shot the night before, Felicity had insisted upon helping him track down and… deal with Helena once and for all. While Oliver had previously held some guilt towards Helena - perhaps if he had tried harder to be her friend rather than simply trying to stop her, she might not have ended up so lost, like with the Lance family, Oliver had come to the rational conclusion that he was not responsible for the Huntress. Moreover, after what she had done to Felicity, Roy, and several dozen QC employees, he was out of sympathy for her as well. Oliver could not fathom the sheer agony of losing the person he loved most in the world, but that pain did not grant Helena carte blanche to do anything and hurt anyone she wanted. Not only was she a danger to his friends and family, but she was a danger to herself, a loose cannon. She was rabid, and the only way to effectively deal with her was to put her down.  
  
So, that’s what Oliver had intended to do. After Felicity secured Helena’s location - she was holed up in Laurel’s old apartment, while Laurel was firmly ensconced in the wing of Merlyn Manor promised to Helena when she made her deal with the devil himself to join his undertaking of misguided vengeance, Oliver had set off at once, not even waiting for dark. The sooner the threat that Helena posed was neutralized, the sooner he, Felicity, and Diggle could focus all of their energies on besting Malcolm Merlyn once and for all. Felicity’s plan was well underway, but now was not the time for distractions. And that’s exactly what Helena was: a distraction.  
  
Unfortunately, that distraction still lived and breathed, and Helena owed her life to the sister of the woman she loathed. It was ironic to think that Sara had ridiculed Oliver for failing to protect Laurel from Merlyn, from spinning out of control, from herself, yet she had stood between Oliver and someone who would gladly kill Laurel and her infant son if doing so would get her any closer to her revenge. Hell, at this point, Oliver wouldn’t put it past Helena to kill Laurel out of spite and little Connor Thomas Merlyn out of jealousy, for Helena believed both Laurel and her baby were standing in her way and preventing Malcolm from living up to his end of their bargain. But Sara couldn’t… or she refused… to see any of this.  
  
After Oliver had discovered Sara alive on the freighter, he had learned of her stance against violence towards women, particularly that inflicted by men. So, the fact that she saw herself as some kind of protector for the women of Starling City didn’t surprise him. What did, though, was her inability to see shades of gray. Yes, he was a man, and, yes, Helena was a woman, but Helena was not a good person. Not only did she not deserve Sara’s protection, but she didn’t particularly want it either. What was more, she wouldn’t return it. But what really baffled Oliver was Sara’s reaction to his mission to protect Starling City and take down Malcolm Merlyn.  
  
Standing there in what had once been Laurel’s living room - Oliver bow drawn and intentions clear, Helena weaponless but still defiant, and Sara literally between them, his former friend had laughed at and mocked his efforts, warning him not to interfere with _League_ business. Given what Felicity had discovered and what Oliver consequently knew about Malcolm’s past, there was only one possible _League_ Sara could have been referring to, but how the hell did Sara Lance even know about the League of Assassins? Furthermore, how was Starling City the League’s business, and how was Sara aware of it?  
  
As Oliver entered the Foundry and took the stairs into the basement, he admitted to himself that what he was missing wasn’t answers. After all, there was only one explanation that could possibly make sense of the fact that, after hurting his wife, Helena Bertinelli was still alive and owed her life to Sara Lance. No, what Oliver was really missing was confirmation.   
  
Felicity met him at the bottom of the stairs, her bright, warm sweater drawing his gaze. Usually, seeing her in that color made him smile, made him recall the afternoon they had first met, but, instead, all he could think about was the fact that the tank she had on underneath the chunky red cardigan was a button-up, because it made her cry out in discomfort if she even attempted to lift up her right arm. It was yet another reminder of what Helena had done to her and what he had failed to do _for_ her, though Oliver knew, without needing to ask, that Felicity wouldn’t resent him for sparing two lives instead of taking one.   
  
She should have been home in bed, and he should have been right there with her, annoying his wife about staying put, and not working, and taking her antibiotics and pain medication, and getting enough rest to heal, but, instead, they were confronting a harsh truth. “I already have searches running,” Felicity told him. She had to tip her head just that much further because of the little, black flats she wore - a rarity but a deserved luxury after everything she had been through. “I know I joked before about Sara working with Malcolm, but, whatever her connection to him and the murderer society, I’ll find it. Or, well, I’ll find proof of it,” Felicity amended, frowning in sympathy.   
  
Because, just like Oliver, she knew as well: Sara Lance knew about the League of Assassins and their business, because she was one of them. It was one thing to take on a rogue madman and shut him down. Even adding Helena to the mix, Oliver had been confident that, with Felicity and Digg at his side, he would prove victorious. And he still had faith in their team. When everything was said and done and the dust settled, Oliver expected to be the victor. But realizing exactly who and what Sara Lance was and adding her to the mix complicated things. It was the last time that Oliver believed there was any way they could all make it out of the upcoming and ultimate confrontation unscathed. 

<\---

When they received the SOS text from Roy, Felicity wasn’t sure what to expect. Was it Malcolm? Was it Helena? Did Roy pop his stitches _again_? While the younger man wasn’t aware that the Arrow worked out of the old foundry’s basement, he was now aware that Oliver was the Arrow. After Helena’s attack on the Queen Consolidated holiday party, Oliver didn’t even attempt to deny Roy’s suspicions. He just told him to heal. Once he was completely recovered from the arrow he took to the knee, then they would officially bring him onto the team. Roy was less than a patient convalescent, however. In fact, healing gracefully was proving more challenging for Roy than Oliver, and that was saying something.  
  
So, when she, Oliver, and Digg made their way through the crowded club and towards the bar, Felicity saw that they would be dealing with a challenge she hadn’t even considered: a high, postpartum depressed, and very drunk Laurel Lance. After how she treated Oliver, Felicity was by no means a Laurel fan. It didn’t surprise her that she could cause such trouble. What did surprise her, however, was that she was causing such trouble _now_. Less than a month after giving birth to her son, Laurel had no business being in Verdant that night… let alone drinking and popping pills.   
  
Felicity was, by no means, a conservative woman. Once a woman became a mother, she did not believe her place was in the home. Women could have careers and children. They could have social lives - tuck their kids into bed for the night and then go out to dinner, go dancing, go for drinks. But Connor was only _weeks_ old, and it was obvious that Laurel was battling addiction. The last place she needed to be was at a club, particularly one owned by her not so friendly ex. For Felicity, what was even more worrisome about Laurel’s presence there that night was, if she was at Verdant, who was taking care of her baby? She sincerely hoped it wasn’t Malcolm Merlyn.   
  
“Are you seriously going to refuse to serve me because I wouldn’t go along with your little matchmaking scheme?” Laurel scoffed at Thea, rolling her eyes and stumbling slightly against the barstool on which she was attempting… rather poorly… to lean. Both Thea and Roy were behind the bar, though the latter was merely keeping his girlfriend company with his injured leg propped up on an untapped keg. As Felicity, Oliver, and Diggle joined them, only Roy noticed their approach, a sigh of relief making his tense shoulders relax. “Grow up, Thea. If you’re old enough to run a bar, then do your job and mix me that martini I ordered. Make it dirty.”  
  
“Me refusing to serve you has nothing to do with my brother and everything to do with you, Laurel. Considering the fact that he’s _married_ , I’ve more than given up on the idea of you two reconciling.” That was… good to know. While Thea had yet to warm up to Felicity, her sister-in-law hadn’t pulled any similar stunts like when Oliver was shot and in the hospital either. Plus, Moira seemed to have either backed off or given up on separating Oliver and Felicity as well. Perhaps she was too distracted with her newfound political career, and Felicity certainly wasn’t penciling in any mother/daughter-in-law brunches for them any time soon, but the lack of outright hostility was a nice change of pace. “No, I’m not making you the drink you want because you… don’t look so good, Laurel. And I’m worried about you.”  
  
“You, Thea Queen, party girl poster child and the face of Starling City’s vertigo epidemic, are worried about me?”  
  
Obviously annoyed yet maintaining her temper, Thea replied pointedly, “a lot has changed in a year.”  
  
“Not that much,” Laurel scoffed.  
  
Pasting a fake smile on her face, Thea attempted to change the subject. “How’s Connor?”  
  
“Oh, great. Now you’re what? Trying to make me feel guilty for wanting a life outside of my son? I’m not breastfeeding, Thea. I’m allowed to have a drink.”  
  
“If it was only one we wouldn’t be having this discussion,” Oliver’s sister said underneath her breath. Despite the loud music coming from the dj, Felicity was still able to hear the mumbled comment. Laurel, however, was too blitzed out of her mind and angry to actually listen. Elevating her voice once again so that her petulant customer would be able to hear, Thea continued undaunted, ignoring Laurel’s complaints. “I have a gift for him, but my mom said to let you guys have some time to yourselves. She said it’s a big adjustment when a woman becomes a mother for the first time and that you and Connor need to heal and bond before everyone else starts to push in and intrude.”  
  
Felicity found herself wondering if Moira would give her that same courtesy when she and Oliver someday had children, but before she could fully wrap her mind around the fact that she was so casually contemplating becoming a mother, Laurel was on the attack once more. “Yeah,” the lawyer mocked with an ugly laugh. “I’m sure that’s really why Moira doesn’t want you visiting Malcolm Merlyn’s home so you can meet Malcolm Merlyn’s grandson and heir.”  
  
Thankfully, Thea didn’t seem to pick up on Laurel’s focus on Merlyn, though she was quite aware of the drunk woman’s sarcasm. “What’s that supposed to mean,” Thea demanded, hands falling to stubbornly cocked hips.   
  
Before Laurel could respond, Oliver took a step forward, interrupting the rapidly deteriorating conversation and capturing both women’s attention. “Hey, Speedy. I’ll take care of this. Roy’s looking a little piqued,” and he added a head nod towards a suddenly pathetic looking Roy to emphasize his words. “Maybe you two should take a break?”  
  
Oliver’s relationship with his sister was still very much rocky, but Thea was obviously grateful for his help and the out he had given her. Reaching out, she squeezed his hand in silent gratitude before turning to leave, but, before she could even take three steps away, Laurel was calling after her, taunting her, making Thea freeze. “Little Thea. Baby Thea. Always in need of protection against the big, bad truth.”  
  
Deciding she had been passive long enough, Felicity quickly scampered around the bar so that she could stand directly beside Laurel. Meeting the other woman’s wide, dilated eyes, she whispered, “you don’t want to do this, Laurel.”  
  
But Laurel was beyond the point of recognizing when someone was trying to help her, beyond the point where she could differentiate between a good and a bad decision, and beyond the point of caring either way. “Don’t tell me what I want. You don’t know me! You don’t know anything about me! This has nothing to do with you. You’re another in a long line of opportunist whores, trying to take advantage of Ollie, only, this time, he was too weak and too damaged after everything he went through to see you for what you are.” From the other side of the bar, Felicity heard Oliver growl, but she didn’t mind Laurel’s attack, because, if Laurel was focused on hating and hurting Felicity, then maybe she would forget about Thea. “But I see you. I see all of you,” Laurel pronounced, her voice continuing to rise both in pitch and volume as she lost more and more of her control, “for exactly who you are.”  
  
“That’s enough,” Oliver snapped through gritted teeth. “You need to leave, Laurel. Now.”  
  
“I don’t answer to you,” Laurel screamed at him, swaying dangerously on her feet. “You’re not my father. You’re not my boyfriend. You’re not my friend. Hell, this isn’t even your club anymore.”   
  
“No, but it’s mine,” Thea countered, whirling around to face Laurel once more. Technically, Oliver still owned Verdant, though Thea had practically demanded it from him. “And I’m telling you to go home, too.”  
  
“Fine,” Laurel snapped, glaring at all of them in turn. As she grabbed her purse from off of the bartop, she leveled one last parting shot. Felicity should have known her easy if not bitter agreement would prove to be anything but. “Before I go, however, I have just one question for you. If your mother is _so_ worried about Connor bonding with his family, why doesn’t that concern extend to his aunt? You.” Spitefully, as she backed away, Laurel added, “congratulations, Thea _Merlyn_. You have a nephew.” And, with that, Laurel Lance finally left.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Felicity noticed John discreetly follow the inebriated and stoned lawyer, apparently planning to make sure that she didn’t attempt to drive herself home. While they were all running low on any sympathy for Laurel at the moment, especially after what she had just so maliciously done to Thea, the last thing anybody wanted was Laurel to hurt anyone else… even herself… that night. Connor was already down one parent. He didn’t need to be orphaned and left to the _care_ of his psychopath grandfather.   
  
These thoughts were fleeting, however, as Felicity once more focused upon her devastated sister-in-law and her equally shattered husband. In her shock and dismay, Thea was immobile, mouth agape and eyes swimming in tears she refused to shed. While Oliver continued to reach out but then pull back his arms, wanting to comfort his sister but unsure if such tenderness would be accepted let alone welcomed, he, too, was struggling to maintain control over his emotions, ricocheting back and forth between anger towards Laurel and sadness on behalf of Thea. Just like Felicity, Roy didn’t move, and he didn’t say anything either, letting the two Queen children - and, yes, Thea was still very much a Queen and Robert and Moira’s daughter in both of their eyes - confront this family secret together and as privately as they could in the middle of a busy, boisterous club.   
  
Perhaps Laurel’s antics had scared anyone else away from approaching the bar, or maybe they were all just too distracted to notice anyone else, but it felt like the dj, and the dancers, and the music, and the flashing lights all just… faded away. The noise and the commotion were still there, but it was distant and dimmed, drowned out by their elevated heart rates. And then Thea was speaking.  
  
“You knew.” She looked at all three of them before settling her accusing gaze upon her brother. “You all knew.”  
  
“Speedy,” Oliver started, but Thea immediately cut him off.   
  
“No, don’t. Don’t even try to deny it, Ollie. I saw your face when Laurel called me Thea Merlyn. You didn’t even react. Everything else she did - all of her hints and her ugly attacks? You reacted to those.” The more she talked, the faster she talked. “You scowled. And you glowered. And you tried to distract her. And you tried to get rid of me. But when Laurel - sanctimonious, judgmental, perfect Laurel Lance - finally told me the truth about who my father is, you didn’t even blink. You just stood there. Resigned. Because _you knew_!” Swiping her arms out, Thea sent dozens of bottles of alcohol and glass after glass crashing to the concrete floor. “For how long,” she screamed. At long last her tears started to fall, and, almost immediately, Thea’s charming, beautiful face was a snotty, streaked mess of desperation and dismay. “How long have you, and mom, and _your_ wife, and _my boyfriend_ been lying to me?”  
  
Before any of them but particularly Oliver could say anything, a haunting, deadly silence came over the entire club. Whirling around on her hot pink heels, Felicity turned just in time to watch an arrow - a very black, and very familiar arrow - slice into the dj’s chest. The young man died instantly, immediately crumbling to the ground. A beat later, the crowd started screaming in horror and fright, creating a crush of bodies as they all tried to escape at once. It was pandemonium; it was hell.   
  
“This ends tonight,” Malcolm Merlyn bellowed across the club. He was dressed as the Dark Archer, though he did not have his mask on. With bow in hand and weapons strapped to his body, he started to plow his way through the panicked stampede of people trying to flee. He didn’t seem to notice that Thea, his own daughter, was standing right there. Instead, his singular focus was directed at Oliver - Oliver who didn’t have his bow, or a gun, or even a knife.   
  
“Roy, get them out of here,” Oliver ordered the younger man before vaulting over the bartop. Roy, his injury forgotten, surged to his feet and started to usher Thea towards the back exit. Despite everything she had already been confronted with that evening and a few more realizations she was coming to in that moment, Thea went willingly, sparing just a single, worried glance in her brother’s direction before turning and running towards safety. Once Oliver was standing directly in front of Felicity, he said, “cut the power.”  
  
And that was it.  
  
A part of Felicity didn’t want to leave him. If Oliver was going to stay and fight Merlyn, then she was going to remain at his side. But that was Felicity, the wife, not Felicity, the Arrow’s partner talking. The Arrow’s partner knew that, to give Oliver the best chance to win against Malcolm, he couldn’t have her there, vulnerable and distracting him. She was scared, scared that it would be the last time she would ever see her husband alive, but what scared Felicity even more was being the reason why he died.   
  
So, with just a parting touch - she placed her hand for a fleeting moment between Oliver’s shoulder blades, feeling him alive and breathing beneath her palm one last time, she turned around and fled, following the path Roy and Thea had just taken. Felicity moved as fast as the tight pencil skirt of her dress would allow, stopping only once she reached the basement’s entrance, entering the code and ushering Thea and Roy into the safest place in all of Starling City. As soon as all three of them were in the basement, she cut the power switch, sending them into complete darkness.   
  
In the basement, no one moved; no one said a thing. Up above them in the club, chaos erupted.   
  
Without electricity, Felicity couldn’t watch Oliver on the surveillance monitors. She had no idea what was happening. But there was one thing she did know: that night would be the last time she ever saw Malcolm Merlyn alive, because, even if Oliver couldn’t kill him, she would. 

<\---

Flat on his back, but Oliver wasn’t going to complain, because at least Felicity was allowing him to use a pillow - _one_ , Oliver laid in bed completely naked, sheets and blankets down by his feet. It was how he usually slept, and he let his wife think that his lack of clothes was just that - habit and preference, but his nakedness that night had nothing to do with a predilection for holding Felicity skin to skin and everything to do with the fact that it hurt too damn much to pull on some sweats. While Oliver knew that he only had to ask and Felicity would help him dress, the last thing he wanted to do was remind her of his injuries. Such a reminder would make her think that she had to keep her physical distance from him when all Oliver desired was to hold her close.  
  
Currently, while he was supine and prone, Felicity was kneeling at his side, sitting on the back of her own calves. She was angled towards him at hip-level, her bottom lip snagged between her teeth, and her brow furrowed in concentration and a panicked worry that hadn’t once left her face since Malcolm Merlyn confronted him earlier that night at Verdant. Unfortunately, she did not share in his state of undress, though at least, if she had to be wrapped in anything, she was wearing his color.   
  
Needing to make her accept that he was, if not fine, then at least going to be okay; needing to make her smile, and laugh, and let him bite her lip if anyone was going to; and needing to get her closer - always closer, Oliver posed a question that he knew Felicity would find ridiculous in that moment but one that had been on his mind a lot… and not just because the Dark Archer had finally been defeated once and for all a few hours earlier. “Where do you want to go on our honeymoon?”  
  
“Oh my god, how hard did he hit you,” Felicity bemoaned, sitting up on her knees so that she could lean over him. Her hands both went to his head where she whispered the pads of her fingers along his scalp, obviously looking for some untreated or undiagnosed bump or laceration. “Your concussion is worse than the doctors thought. Maybe we should go back? To the hospital?” It wasn’t _why_ Oliver had posed his question; he was legitimately interested in hearing her ideas, but he wasn’t going to argue with the results either. Before Felicity could even notice what he was doing, Oliver had his hands wrapped around her waist, and he lifted her up so that she was hovering over him, straddling him, only setting her down again once she was positioned _just right_. “Oliver!”  
  
“Felicity,” he returned with a smile that he hoped hid his grimace of pain. Moving had not been without its physical consequences for him, but any discomfort was worth it if the end result was touching his wife. “So, we were discussing our honeymoon?”  
  
“No,” she argued. Despite her annoyed tone, she stayed put. “We were talking about how Malcolm Merlyn, apparently, scrambled your brain.”  
  
“Two hours ago in the ER, according to you, I didn’t have a brain, so… progress?”  
  
“Don’t get cute with me, Oliver Queen,” she snapped at him, glaring. There was no heat behind her expression, however, just fear… which, in Oliver’s opinion, was worse. “I’m the one in this relationship who’s supposed to have the quippy comebacks, not you; I’m the one who’s supposed to speak in non-sequiturs and react inappropriately to trauma and distress.”  
  
“There’s nothing inappropriate about us finally getting to celebrate our marriage and go away together… unless,” Oliver realized, becoming nervous. He could feel himself shutting down, and he turned away to look elsewhere - anywhere else - when he voiced his concerns. “You don’t _want_ to celebrate…?”  
  
But Felicity wouldn’t allow him to go far. Tipping forward so that she could cup his jaw and bring him back to her, she clarified, “right _this_ moment? No, I don’t think a honeymoon is the best idea. Because, when I get you alone in a remote cabin or on a private, sandy beach, I want you whole, and healthy, and _capable_ of celebrating.”  
  
Oliver grinned crookedly, cheekily. “Oh, I’m capable.” And he was. He might have taken a beating that night, but he certainly wasn’t broken, and having his wife sitting on his lap was an excellent way to prove just that.  
  
“Trust me. I can tell,” Felicity teased him with a roll of her big, beautiful, blue eyes. “But you know what I mean, Oliver.”  
  
“And I also know that you wouldn’t just want to leave without making proper arrangements at QC first.” While he had no qualms with disappearing without word, Felicity took the management of their Fortune 500 company much more seriously than he did. “But I’m not asking you to run away with me tonight, Felicity. I just… want to know what your thoughts are on taking a honeymoon. Soon.” Adding a plaintive note to his voice, he requested, “humor me?”  
  
“And then we’ll talk about what happened tonight,” she bargained with him. At his nod of acquiescence, she settled back down, letting her hands run their way over his neck, chest, torso, and then lower abdomen as she relaxed. In her contemplations, she didn’t realize that, as she thought and as she talked, she constantly played with the fine line of hair which ran from his navel… downwards. “Honestly? I’d go anywhere with you. Well, except Club Maniac. Let me tell you: I have had my _fill_ of assassins.”  
  
“Okay. So, Nanda Parbat? Off the list of potential honeymoon destinations,” Oliver agreed, playing along with her. “I’d also like to suggest that we avoid anywhere near the North China Sea. I’ve heard the accommodations there are disappointing.”  
  
“So, is that a no to all islands or just Lian Yu?”  
  
Instead of answering directly, Oliver reassured her, “you, me, and a tropical island? I could get on board with that.”  
  
“Like Hawaii?”  
  
Narrowing his gaze in playful consideration, Oliver responded, “I’m thinking someplace more exotic than that.”  
  
“Well, I’ve never been anywhere other than Vegas, Boston, and Starling. We couldn’t afford to go on vacations when I was a kid, and I guess I just never… formed the habit, so I didn’t even think about taking one on my own once I was an adult with a good, steady job.”   
  
Plus, it went unspoken, but had Felicity taken a trip after being hired by QC, it would have been by herself. While she hadn’t been _lonely_ persay before they found each other, Oliver knew that she had been just as alone physically as he had been emotionally. But now that they had one another, neither of them would have to be isolated or solitary again. Instead of any of that, however, Oliver found himself suggesting, “maybe we should take several honeymoons, then.”  
  
Felicity snorted. “Your mother and the board would love that!”  
  
She had a valid point, but Oliver couldn’t bring himself to care about what either his mother or Queen Consolidated’s board thought about his marriage or his plans to celebrate it. “Like there’s any place on this earth that could keep _you_ from checking your email even when we’re on vacation.”  
  
“True,” Felicity acknowledged… much to his amusement and his chagrin… which was an odd combination but one Oliver suspected he’d experience often with his wife.   
  
“Alright, so what if I plan our honeymoon?”  
  
“I am… oddly alright with that.” After all, it was no small feat to convince Felicity Queen to let someone else take the reins on anything, let alone planning. “But it can’t be a surprise, because I’ll need to pack, and, if you pack for me, I’ll just end up with ridiculously expensive jewelry and inappropriate lingerie.”  
  
Speaking of…. “What are these,” Oliver queried, skating the pads of his calloused fingers along the line of her legs where her creamy, smooth skin was obscured from his sight and touch by fleece.  
  
“Oliver, you went to private school your entire life. You’re not telling me that you’re unfamiliar with high socks, are you?”  
  
“Knee highs I know, but these? These are something else.”  
  
Indulgently, she rolled her eyes as his fingers slipped underneath the warm fabric and then began to edge them down her legs. “They’re called thigh-high socks, and I’m only wearing them because you think a silk slip counts as winter pajamas.”  
  
The short nightgown she was wearing had been one of her Hanukkah presents. If Felicity was going to insist that she needed to wear pajamas in the winter, then Oliver wanted to give her (and himself)... options. But if she was actually cold…? “You don’t have to wear it,” he told her sincerely.  
  
“I know,” Felicity acknowledged before blushing deeply. Her eyes skittered away before she admitted, “but I like it.” Her embarrassment, as unwarranted as it was - she never needed to be embarrassed with him, told Oliver that her appreciation for the nightgown had little to do with its aesthetics. The silk was luxurious and decadent, flowing over her body like water, and the color, like their sheets, proclaimed that she was his… just as much as it promised that he was also hers.   
  
In his single minded focus of stripping his wife of her socks, Oliver failed to notice when Felicity’s blush faded and then paled entirely, her apprehension and worry once more returning. It was only when she murmured, “I’m sorry, Oliver,” that he looked up from his task. It was on the tip of his tongue to reassure and tease her that she didn’t need to apologize for the socks when he finally noticed just how serious she was in her remorse, how haunted by it. Her gaze was riveted on his mottled and bruised ribs. The fleeting moments of levity he had been able to bring her with talk of their honeymoon were long gone.   
  
Raising his right hand so that he could seize the point of her chin between his thumb and index finger, lifting her eyes once more to his, Oliver comforted her, “hey, you have nothing to be sorry….”  
  
“My plan didn’t work,” Felicity interrupted him. Tears immediately flooded her wide, apologetic eyes and, once more, her bottom lip was back being tormented between her teeth. “After all of my confidence - no, after all of my _gloating_ , I left you even more vulnerable to Malcolm Merlyn, and you nearly died because of it, Oliver!”  
  
“No, you saved my life,” he argued. And Oliver was being completely honest with her, too. While his words were meant to reassure her, nothing he said was anything less than the absolute truth. “If it wasn’t for you, Malcolm would have just shot me… like with the dj. For him, our fights weren’t personal. Eliminating me would have just been the next step in his grand plan. But you going after the land on which his wife’s clinic once stood, resurrecting _Rebecca Thomas_? You made it personal for him, and that bought me time.”  
  
“I don’t understand,” Felicity confessed. Her brow was furrowed in thought, and Oliver could tell that she wanted to believe him. She just couldn’t. Not yet. Not without more information.   
  
“Tonight, for the first time in my life, because of you, I saw Malcolm Merlyn confused. He didn’t know what to believe. Logically, he knew that Rebecca was dead, that all of the whispers about the ‘Angel of the Glades,’ and the phone calls from her old number, and even the donations in her name to Glades charities wasn’t actually her. But he wanted them, her, to be real. And yet he didn’t, because, if Rebecca was alive, or reborn, or even haunting him, then what would she think of everything he had done out of hate and vengeance in her name? He was desperate for her to be alive, and he was desperate for her to never know what he had become, and, in that desperation, yes, he came to Verdant to kill me, but he also wanted to hurt me first… just as your plan was hurting him.”  
  
“Great,” Felicity threw her hands up in frustration. “While my plan might not be the reason why you almost died tonight, it is the reason why Malcolm Merlyn beat you senseless!”  
  
“He didn’t beat me senseless,” Oliver grumbled, not liking that his wife saw him that way. It wasn’t that he wanted to hide his vulnerabilities from her; he just didn’t want to have any… not when it came to Felicity and his ability to keep her safe.   
  
“Oliver, they had to _aspirate_ your lung. With a needle. A really big, long, thick, and scary needle. Because it collapsed. Because Malcolm Merlyn hit you with his bow and kicked you with boots until you were beaten. Senseless.”  
  
Well, when she put it like that…. “He cornered me without a weapon,” Oliver defended himself.  
  
“Yeah. I know. And then you had me turn out all of the lights, too.”  
  
“Besides Malcolm’s mental and emotional disorientation, the dark was my other advantage, and you gave me both of them.” He knew, in shutting down the power to Verdant, that also meant that Felicity couldn’t monitor his fight through her security feeds, and Oliver also knew just how much that had cost his wife.   
  
“So, what, your younger eyes could see better than his older ones?” Her flippancy came from not knowing rather than from an attempt at humor.  
  
“While I might be less than an attentive owner, I know every square inch of that club like the back of my own hand. I had to… when I was first designing it, because my very life depended upon its ability to protect my secret. So, while Malcolm was striking out against me blindly… thanks to you, I was able to buy myself time.”  
  
“For Digg to get back from helping Laurel,” Felicity supplied for him. It was the logical conclusion, and the same one Oliver himself had gambled his life on hours earlier, but it was also wrong.  
  
“Actually, it was Helena who killed Malcolm.”  
  
Disbelief dripping from her voice, Felicity looked at him like _he_ was the one who had gone insane that night as she asked, “as in Bertinelli?”  
  
Huffing out a laugh, Oliver questioned, “do you know any other Helenas?”  
  
“The woman who _shot_ me because you wouldn’t go out to dinner with her?”  
  
“I mean, it was a little more complicated than that, but….”  
  
“The woman who put a _crossbow bolt_ through Roy’s _knee_ , because, apparently, that’s what you do once you team up with Malcolm Merlyn and he whispers his murderous nothings into your ear?”  
  
Utterly delighted by his wife and her ability to bring him happiness even under the strangest, most terrifying of circumstances, Oliver couldn’t help himself in playing along with her little game. “Still not sure who else we could be talking about right now.”  
  
“But… _why?_ ,” Felicity sputtered. _“Why_ would Helena help you and off Merlyn? I thought they were BPFs: Best Psychopaths Forever?!”  
  
“It was less about helping me and more about making sure, if anyone was going to kill me, it’d be her.”  
  
“Well, it’s a good thing she’s already dead, because, if you hadn’t taken care of her, I’d….”  
  
“I didn’t kill Helena,” Oliver cut her off, correcting her. “ _That_ was Digg.”  
  
“Oliver, what the hell happened in that club tonight?”  
  
 _While Helena lowered her bloody right hand which still held the knife she used to slice Malcolm Merlyn’s throat, at the same time, she lifted her left which carried her crossbow. Although he scrambled to his feet from where he had been balled up on the floor while Malcolm rained down his fury, and hatred, and assault, by the time Oliver was on his feet, Helena met him with an arrow pointed directly at his heart. She didn’t squeeze the trigger - yet, but she did push the point in far enough to tear through his suit jacket and shirt. He could feel the sharp metal nicking his skin and drawing first blood.  
  
“You tried to kill me,” she cried. The accusation was born of rage and anguish.  
  
Maybe Oliver should have played to her melancholy, but the fact that he wasn’t willing to entertain her ideas for the two of them was what had started their conflict in the first place, and he wasn’t about to feed into her delusions now. “And, despite the fact that you just saved my life, the next time I try to kill you, I’ll succeed.”  
  
“I didn’t save you,” Helena spat, leaning into her anger. “Malcolm deserved to die after the way he treated me. He promised to help me kill my father, but, as soon as he found out about Laurel Lance carrying his bastard grandchild, I was out, and she was in. He used me, and then he forgot about me!” If Oliver knew Malcolm at all… and he believed he did, especially now that he was married himself, he’d bet that Malcolm had absolutely no intention of going after Frank Bertinelli. But telling Helena that wouldn’t help Oliver. Instead of reminding her of what he himself had refused to do for her as well, Oliver needed to find a distraction. “No, if I did anything by killing Malcolm, it was guarantee that I’d be the one to take you from your condescending bitch of a wife!”  
  
“Not if I take you out first,” the distraction Oliver was hoping for arrived in the shape of John Diggle, the light from the parking lot outside illuminating the bodyguard and Oliver’s friend and partner where he stood, glock raised and trained down center mass onto Helena, just inside of the open door. “And, this time, Sara Lance isn’t here to save you.”  
  
All it took was a slight nod from Oliver, and Diggle fired three times, hitting her twice in the heart and then once in the head.  
  
_“While Digg was trying to get Laurel’s keys away from her, Sara showed up.”  
  
“Oh, I bet that went over well,” Felicity remarked with enough sarcasm to power a small city.  
  
“She was… less than pleased. But John didn’t really care what Sara thought, because, by then, he’d heard the commotion coming from the club and knew that he needed to get back. He left Sara to deal with Laurel… and Laurel to deal with Sara, too, I guess, and he made it back in time to make sure that Helena couldn’t hurt you or anyone else ever again.”   
  
From that point on, it had been chaos - controlled chaos with Diggle in charge and taking care of the police and all of their questions… but still chaos. In a way, they had been lucky that Oliver wasn’t to blame for either Malcolm’s or Helena’s deaths, because it further protected their secrets _and_ supported the evidence that the Dark Archer had been after Oliver Queen because of his efforts to help the Glades and not because he was the Arrow. Plus, it meant that, by the time Felicity, Roy, and Thea made their way back upstairs after an all-clear text from Digg but before the police swarmed Verdant en mass, Oliver could be fussed over by his wife and taken to the hospital without the hassle of going downtown for formal questioning. Not that Felicity would have allowed that to happen even if Oliver _had_ killed Merlyn or Helena, but it was nice that, for once, she didn’t have to fight that particular battle for him.   
  
A blonde, honeyed curtain falling around and suddenly cocooning him brought Oliver back to the moment. Felicity had rocked forward so as to smooth over the small, sterile bandage covering his tattooed and scarred flesh where Helena’s crossbolt had broken his skin. The wound was minor and had stopped bleeding almost immediately, but it was the most visceral reminder of just how close he had come to dying that night and how close they had come to losing each other. But Oliver didn’t want Felicity focusing on almost death; instead, he wanted her to experience just how alive he still was.  
  
Lifting his shoulders just enough so that he could wrap his seeking mouth around her slip-clad right breast, Oliver found Felicity’s nipple already hard, and straining, and pebbled, and wanting. She gasped in pleasure and surprise, falling back and sitting down on him once more with a little more force than she realized, but Oliver, despite his protesting ribs, just followed after her, refusing to let go, refusing to let _her_ go. “Oliver,” Felicity whined; she moaned. Despite the aroused reprimand his name on her lips was meant to be, Felicity braided her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer and holding him to her breast. “It’s silk,” she chastised halfheartedly.  
  
“Washable,” he grunted. Because, if Oliver was going to buy his wife green, green-black green, Hood green silk pajamas, they couldn’t be dry clean only… not with what seeing her in his color did to him.   
  
Straightening up so that her breast fell from his mouth with a pop but, in doing so, grinding down on his hard cock just that much more, Felicity waved towards Oliver. “And your… everything?,” referring to his injuries.  
  
“I want… no, I need to _feel you_ , Felicity - your heart beating, your breath, your life, and I feel you the most, the best, when I’m inside of you. So, please, let me love you. Actually ...” Smiling impishly because he knew his wife and he knew her… preferences, Oliver amended, “ … make that let me be loved _by you_ , because I think we both know who’s going to be on top tonight.” When she still didn’t relent, or move, or say anything, Oliver started to backtrack. “But... if you’re not in the mood…? I mean, of course you’re not. After everything that happened tonight. And I can just hold you. If that’s what you want, too. I’d never want to….”  
  
“Are _you_ here with me right now? Then of course I’m in the mood, and we both know it,” Felicity _finally_ , _mercifully_ put him out of his misery. Tilting her head to the side and leveling him with her signature Felicity look - part pout, part pointed stare, his wife said, “in fact, you can _feel_ it.” To emphasize her point, she swirled her hips, and it took every ounce of strength and determination Oliver had not to allow his eyes to roll back into his head out of pleasure and pain, desire and need.   
  
Felicity was right. He _could_ feel it, for, underneath her slip, she wore absolutely nothing, allowing him to appreciate just how warm, and soft, and wet she was. _For_ him _. With_ him. _Because of_ him. _Always_ him. But he had to be sure. “Just because your body wants me, doesn’t mean your head and your heart….”  
  
Raising up on her knees, Felicity reached between Oliver’s legs and took him in hand, guiding him to exactly where he wanted to be. As her body swallowed his cock, her actions swallowed his words, stealing them and every thought Oliver had from his lips and out of his mind. As Felicity sank down until he was fully seated inside of her, she, first, pulled off the socks he had bunched around her ankles and, then, grabbed the hem of her nightgown, pulling it up and over her head before tossing it, already forgotten, aside, the splash of color now on their bedroom floor matching that of her nails as she coasted them up his body. Once she was gripping his shoulders, Felicity lowered her upper body down so that she was just hovering above him - the heat of her flesh touching him, tempting him, taunting him but not her actual skin. Their mouths now perfectly aligned, Oliver was disappointed that his wife didn’t kiss him until she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck and whispered in his ear, “let’s love each other,” biting the lobe to punctuate her demand.   
  
And they did just that.   
  
Despite everything that had happened that night - all of the secrets that had been revealed, all of the lives lost, all of the lives changed, and all of the threats they had survived, Oliver realized that he was happy. And it wasn’t just in that moment either. It was always. With Felicity, he was _always_ happy now. Oh, he felt other emotions, and his happiness wasn’t always in the forefront, but it was _always_ there. Because of this, Oliver promised himself that, no matter what else they faced together in the future, going up against Malcolm Merlyn would be the last time he wouldn’t trust in or have faith in himself, because, if Felicity believed in him, then that was good enough for Oliver. 

<\---

Felicity woke a few - okay, so it was actually six but it _felt_ like three - hours later to an empty bed. While it wasn’t strange for Oliver to wake before her… and by not strange she meant that he literally got up before her _every day_ , what was… abnormal was the fact that he got out of bed. Oliver took it as his personal mission in life to help Felicity not hate mornings, and he took his mission quite seriously, one _rising_ at a time. The sheets beside her were still warm which told Felicity he hadn’t been gone long. She could have given it a few minutes, settled back down and waited to see if her husband reappeared with actual breakfast rather than insisting upon eating _her_ for his first meal of the day, but she was curious… _and_ worried, seeing as how he had checked himself out of the hospital the night before AMA.   
  
Her nightgown a wrinkled mess and no doubt still damp given how voracious Oliver had been while… _yeah_ , the night before, Felicity bypassed the t-strap slip and, instead, elected to put on the matching robe, grabbing it off her vanity’s ottoman. Without the heat of her body to warm it, the silk was cool against her skin when she wrapped it around her, making Felicity shiver. Briefly, she considered finding her socks from the night before and putting them back on as well, but, in all likelihood, Oliver was just getting a drink or checking the news, and they’d be back in bed together before Felicity had the chance to get the thigh-highs on all of the way.   
  
Fleetingly, as she made her way out of their room, she noticed that Oliver had rummaged through his side of the dresser, meaning _he_ had bothered to put pants on… which was also strange. Usually, her husband had no qualms about walking around their apartment naked. While Felicity had fully embraced his desire for them both to sleep in the nude, it was one thing for her to be comfortable with her nakedness when they were alone in bed - an equally naked Oliver distracting her, warming her, _occupying_ her; it was a whole different story for Felicity to parade said nakedness by all of her windows. Yes, she had curtains, but they were _sheers_ , and she did not wear enough nude colored clothes for her neighbors to think she was actually dressed.   
  
So, her robe it was.  
  
Not that it actually covered much. Only falling to mid-thigh, even when Felicity tied it securely around her, there was still a generous amount of bare skin on display. Normally, that was part of the robe’s appeal, but it certainly wouldn’t do much to keep her neighbors’ gossip at bay. But it _was_ something, and it certainly wasn’t flesh-toned, so Felicity went with it. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than Oliver was actually going to see ...”  
  
“Oh my god, you’re not drinking milk straight from the carton,” Felicity gasped, directing her comments towards her husband despite the fact that her eyes were riveted on their… _guests._ Scampering forward so that she could hide behind Oliver, only peering around his shoulders, Felicity attempted to whisper, “your sister is in our apartment, Oliver, and there’s a baby watching me. In my lingerie. _A baby_.”  
  
“Nice PJs,” Roy snickered. And, oh yeah, Roy was there, too. So, at least learning about… well, _all_ of the secrets hadn’t broken Roy and Thea up. That was… something, at least. “Very… obvious.”  
  
With everything else going on, Felicity didn’t think that the Arrow of it all was what they should be talking about. Oliver growing tense… okay, even _more_ tense… underneath the palms of her hands told her that he was on the same page as she was. But Thea just outright ignored the reference. Despite the fact that she had to have about a million and one questions for her brother, she, instead, went on the attack… which was, for how their relationship had been going for the past eight months, kind of on point for her. Nodding because her arms were full of _a frakking baby_ , Thea nudged her chin in Oliver and Felicity’s direction. “So, this is why you weren’t answering any of my calls.”  
  
“Speedy, my phone was off. Or it was dead. I really don’t know.” An uncomfortable and awkward Oliver shrugged his bare shoulders in further emphasis of his uncertainty. “But I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose.”  
  
“And my phone was on,” Felicity supplied helpfully, wanting to defend her husband. After all, she had made a promise to herself months ago that she’d never let anyone, not even his sister, unjustly attack or hurt Oliver without at least attempting to protect him. “We’re never completely unreachable.” Sad realization dawning, Felicity came around to stand by Oliver’s side, taking his left hand in her right and linking their fingers together, her modesty and mortification be damned. “But, of course, you wouldn’t call me even if your life depended upon it.” And, after everything that had happened the night before, it wasn’t difficult to imagine a dozen scenarios where that might have been the case.  
  
“Sara Lance is dead.” Brow twisting in frustration, Thea amended, “I mean, she _was_ alive… which, considering all of your other secrets, I’m sure you were already aware of, but she died last night. Again. For real and for forever this time.”  
  
From beside her, a shocked Oliver just gaped at his sister. It was Felicity who asked, “wait, what? How…?”  
  
All of a sudden, Felicity had to let go of her husband’s hand, because there was a baby being shoved into her arms… a baby she was just now realizing was the son of her husband’s dead best friend and ex-girlfriend. So, while Thea apparently still disliked her, she at least trusted Felicity enough to, in her agitated distress, hold her nephew for her. Instead of answering her questions right away, though, an obviously exhausted Thea pushed past Felicity and Oliver and walked into their living room, an apologetically timid Roy following dutifully behind his girlfriend. Once she, and Oliver, and _Conner Thomas Merlyn_ trailed after them and into the room, Thea collapsed onto the couch. Sitting on the edge of the sofa so that she could lean her elbows onto her knees and her head in her hands, the younger woman finally started to explain.  
  
“It was Laurel. She… refused to give up her keys, or she didn’t believe that Sara was real, but, whatever the reason, she drove drunk, wrecked, and Sara died. Laurel _killed_ her own sister last night.” Looking up at them with accusing eyes, Thea demanded to know, “why didn’t Mr. Diggle stop her? He went after her. I saw him. He’s supposed to be this badass Army ranger or something, yet some drunk girl gave him the slip?!”  
  
But Oliver’s attention wasn’t on his sister. Instead, he was staring at Felicity - more specifically, at Felicity holding the baby… which was rattling but not what she needed to focus on in that moment. Rather, someone had to answer Thea’s questions. Providing Oliver’s sister with a sanitized version of what happened - after all, Sara Lance was already dead, so she wasn’t going to pile even more grief onto the blonde vigilante’s shoulders, Felicity replied, “Sara arrived while Digg was getting Laurel’s keys from her and said that she’d take it from there. He had no reason to doubt that Laurel’s own sister wouldn’t be able to help her.”  
  
“Yeah. I know. You’re right,” Thea sighed, her head once more falling back into her hands with a groan. If it wasn’t for Oliver standing beside her and the baby she was, for some reason, still holding, Felicity probably would have fallen over at the words ‘you’re right’ coming from Thea’s lips in regards to her. “But it’s just so… _sad._ The Lances got their miracle, too - like we did with Ollie, but, in the same night that they learned Sara was alive, Laurel _killed_ her, was then arrested for a whole slew of charges including vehicular homicide, and Detective Lance went....” Thea shuddered in remembrance, while Roy wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulders. “I’ve never seen anyone like that before… not even Mom after you and Dad died, Ollie.”  
  
With a deep breath, Thea seemed to gather herself before standing and crossing the room to take Conner once more from Felicity. Without the baby to hold, Felicity immediately sought out Oliver, this time curling herself into his side versus just taking his hand. “After Laurel was arrested and Detective Lance was… admitted, as Conner’s biological half aunt and only other _living_ family member, I was appointed his temporary guardian. Malcolm’s lawyers were there because of Laurel and… to meet with the coroner, and everything was arranged before I could even grasp what was happening.” With an ironic, ugly laugh, Thea pressed on, “and, apparently, I’m also Malcolm’s sole heir. He changed his will… after Tommy, but I guess he never had the chance to change it again after Conner was born. So, instead of being second in line to the Queen throne, I’m now in control of the entire Merlyn fortune, the majority owner of Merlyn Global, and a nineteen year old raising her dead, secret half brother’s love child.” Her words coming too fast because of her panic, Thea added, “so, yeah, I think you’re going to have to find somebody else to run your club, Ollie, because I’m going to be a little busy.”  
  
“Does Mom know about… any of this,” Oliver asked sympathetically. “I know you’re probably upset with her right now.” His baby sister’s glare all but confirmed that assumption. “And with me, too.”  
  
“Try the whole freaking world,” Thea snarked. It was only the infant in her arms becoming fussy which forced her to calm down. Thea pulled Conner just that much closer, and she nuzzled his downy head, but then she finally answered, “no, I haven’t seen Mom. Because of the news, I’m sure she knows by now about Malcolm, and Sara, and Laurel, but I haven’t been home since yesterday before work, and I haven’t been ready to talk to her, so I’ve been… screening her calls.”  
  
“Thea,” Oliver started to admonish, but his sister cut him off.   
  
“Don’t start, Ollie. Like you’re one to talk. Besides, at least I sent her a text to let her know that we’re _both_ alright, relatively speaking.”  
  
“You’re right, I’m sorry, and thank you,” Oliver admitted, apologized, and acknowledged all in the same breath. It was succinct but no less sincere because of his signature brevity. “But you need to talk to Mom, Thea.” Before his sister could protest, he pressed on, “trust me, she and I have our issues, too, but, if anyone can help you sort out the Merlyn finances, it’s Mom.”  
  
“Or me,” Felicity piped up. After investigating and raiding the Merlyn finances for weeks, Felicity knew them pretty darn well. Plus, she _was_ a genius, too. “Pick your poison,” she suggested none too helpfully. While the advice was said facetiously, the offer to assist Thea was genuine. Recognizing this, Oliver, whose arm was wrapped around her waist, offered her a slight, appreciative squeeze.   
  
“Quite frankly, I really don’t care about the money. Right now, all that matters is this little guy,” Thea indicated the baby she was holding, her nephew. “He needs to eat, and he needs some clean clothes, and he needs to sleep. After everything that happened, Malcolm’s housekeeper woke him in the middle of the night to bring him to the hospital, and he’s been awake ever since.”  
  
“I’d recommend a clean diaper soon, too,” Felicity added.  
  
Thea wrinkled her nose but didn’t argue the point. “So, all of that means that Conner and I need stability right now… which means we need Raisa. Roy’s going to go with me.”  
  
“I won’t let either of them out of my sight,” the younger man promised, speaking for only the second time since the trio had arrived.   
  
“After we get settled, I’m sure I’ll see Mom. I know she’s been busy with a new, bigshot campaign donor, but she’ll eventually want answers, and, when she does, I promise that I’ll talk to her, Ollie.”  
  
“Good,” Oliver approved of his sister’s plan.  
  
With that, Thea still carrying Conner and a limping Roy, despite his walking cast, made their way towards the door of Oliver and Felicity’s apartment. Before leaving, however, Thea turned back to face them once more. “I know that it’s early, but you needed to know what happened last night. Unlike you, I don’t keep secrets. You deserved the truth, I told you the truth, and now I’m going to go. But remember this conversation, Ollie,” Thea warned her brother. “Because, if you can’t give me the same courtesy moving forward, then we’ll be done. This is your last chance.”  
  
It was both a threat and a promise, but it was also empty, because Oliver no longer had any secrets from his sister… at least none that would merit a permanent severing of their relationship. “I understand, Speedy,” Oliver responded solemnly.   
  
With nothing else said between the siblings, Thea, Roy, and Conner left. Seconds later, it was just Oliver and Felicity once more in their still mostly dark apartment. They might have been awake, but the morning was still struggling to properly begin. The sky was overcast, and the icy, bitter rain - what seemed like Starling City’s only weather during the winter - continued to fall, occasionally pinging against the windows. Now that they were alone and the space silent again, Felicity could once more hear the reminder that it was still too early and she was still so tired.  
  
As if reading her thoughts, Oliver took her by the hand and started pulling her after him and towards their room. “Let’s go back to bed,” he coerced, though she wasn’t going to take much convincing.   
  
Despite everything they had learned during Thea’s brief visit, neither Oliver nor Felicity felt the need to discuss Thea’s many revelations. Yes, they cared about what happened to the Lance family, but it didn’t actually concern them. They weren’t responsible for Sara, and they tried their best to help Laurel, and Detective Lance wouldn’t want anything from them, not even their sympathy. As for Thea and Conner, while Oliver’s sister and her nephew _did_ concern them, they were fine. If and when Thea asked for their assistance - whether that was with her inheritance or with her unexpected guardianship of an infant, they’d be there for her. Both of them. Together. But until then….  
  
“Back to bed to _sleep_ ,” Felicity clarified. When Oliver didn’t object, she knew that his confrontation with his sister had taken a lot out of him; when he didn’t even attempt to remove his sweatpants before gingerly laying down, she knew that his injuries were paining him too much for even Oliver to deny. Despite this, however, once he was settled, she crawled into bed after him, wrapping herself around him like the barnacle they both wanted her to be.   
  
It didn’t take long for either of them to drift back off into unconsciousness. Distantly, Felicity realized that neither of them had set an alarm, so, apparently, going into or even calling in to work that day wasn’t going to be a thing, Oliver’s plans for their honeymoon and Felicity’s plans to prepare QC for said honeymoon waiting for another day. But they deserved the rest and relaxation. After all, the night before they had fought Malcolm Merlyn, survived not only the Dark Archer but also the Huntress, and saved the city… even if the city was unaware of their efforts and their almost sacrifices. Plus, while they still had the chance, they needed to take advantage of the respite for as long as they could, because, unbeknownst to Felicity, it was the last time it would ever be just the two of them again. 


End file.
